


The Prince and the Servant

by Raven_Knight



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Based on Cinderella, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, non-con elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 04:41:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 117,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2759969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_Knight/pseuds/Raven_Knight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The King of Terra summons two bright graduates to give them some counsel before they set out among the stars.  He tells them of a history - and a romance - from Terra's past that inspired the change that allowed these two graduates to sit before him to receive it.  That bond formed the cornerstones for some of Starfleet's highest and most important directives. </p><p>(Kirk/Spock retelling of Cinderella.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer/Note: Firstly, as usual, I do not own Star Trek – or anything recognizable in this story. Anything you do not recognize, however…I obviously made up. For example, this odd societal practice that I don’t really bother to explain beyond this brief note: In this alternate universe world, transportation methods depend on one’s social class/standing, and ancient traditions were never really dismissed as archaic. The lower classes have means of transport like bicycles or they travel on foot. Horses and carriages are traditions for the nobility on Terra. Only the royalty have hovercars, and they also own all spaceports and space-faring vessels. 
> 
> Based on/Following closely with a certain Cinderella Film from 1998. After a recent rewatch of it, it demanded I adapt it in a Kirk/Spock version. It just fit too well. Also, considering my excitement for the release of the fantastic Sondheim brilliance of Into the Woods, I figured this was a great way to maybe build up others’ excitement – by presenting a decent Prince Charming. I’m hoping to have this finished before that film’s release, but we shall see. I’m also dealing with finals at the moment, so that’s limiting my writing time. Anyway, onward, readers! Thank you for reading, as always. ~ RK

            **Prologue**

 

Starfleet Academy had certainly never advised command students, Jean-Luc Picard and William Riker, of the possibility of being summoned before the Terran Monarch while they had still been students.  They hadn’t even known such a summons was possible until moments after the ceremony that awarded them command aboard the exploratory and diplomatic vessel, the _U.S.S. Enterprise._   Picard and Riker had been approached by the Royal Steward just after leaving the ceremony and informed that they were expected at the Palace.  A hovercar would arrive for them.

            Picard had been from generations upon generations of wine-makers, the lower class, however.  They did not own the winery or the estate upon which the countless grapes were grown and harvested.  But he’d shown promise and interest in something other than making wine for the nobles of Terra, and so he had – with a little convincing – managed to be the first to step away from the soil and fruits and pursue his own dreams.  Riker had been from similar circumstances, only he came from the serving quarters of a machine-producing and assembling estate.  Both men had grown up using their hands.  Now, they were accustomed to using their minds as well, and they would use them to explore the stars. 

They had waited, nervous to do anything else, for two weeks.  Then, finally, the promised hovercar arrived.  Picard and Riker were ushered into it, and then they were leisurely headed to the Royal Palace.  It wasn’t until they were standing just outside of a large set of closed doors did it fully sink in that they were about to speak directly to their ruler.  They were just recent graduates of Starfleet.  What could their king possibly need from them? 

“This way, Captain, Commander,” the Steward said, bringing both men from their thoughts.  He was an old man, still carrying himself with dignity and pride, but aging harshly and slow in stride.  The Steward led the way into the chambers but halted several feet into the room to announce the guests.  “Captain Jean-Luc Picard and Commander William Riker, Your Majesty.”

A soft but authoritative voice replied from a room beyond.  “Thank you, David.  Captain, Commander, please be seated.” 

The Steward stepped aside to let them pass.  Two chairs had been placed at a table in the sitting area of the king’s personal chambers.  They remained standing at parade rest.  It would not do to be seated before the king, despite what he’d instructed.  Refreshment had been set out, coffee and tea and various small treats, but the young men were uncertain to touch it just yet.  Perhaps they should wait for the king to do so, giving them permission as it were. 

A moment later, the king entered the room, resplendent in his finery.  He was no longer a young man, but he had certainly not reached the age of his Steward.  His face was lined by laughter and his blue eyes shined with the memories of a happy childhood.  In his youth the king’s hair had been like sunlight, but with age came a silver to interweave with his born golden locks.  He reached for the refreshment and poured himself some of the dark, hot beverage.  “You’ve passed your first test, gentlemen,” the king said to them, smiling, though his focus was still on his drink’s preparation.  He took the third, and only available, chair at the table and began to add sweetener and cream to his coffee.  “Please, truly, now, be seated and prepare your coffee or tea – whichever you prefer.”

Picard and Riker obeyed the order and sat.  Riker reached for the coffee, while Picard began to prepare a cup of tea, placing his saucer over his cup to properly steep the leaves.  Once Riker finished stirring, the king gazed at them for a long moment, observing them, taking them in.  “I’m sure you’re wondering why I summoned you here.”

Riker spoke up with a friendly smile on his face.  “I’ll admit, I’ve been wondering ever since your Majesty’s Steward told us we were expected here.”

The king nodded.  “It has to do with your achievements and new positions.”  Picard straightened in his chair.  Riker, on the other hand, relaxed, and continued to lazily stir his coffee.  “Before you embark on your missions to explore strange and new worlds, seek out new life and civilizations, and boldly go where no one has gone before, I summoned you here to give you some counsel, something that I wish for you both to carry with you in your mission, and to use as a—”  The king smiled to himself.  “—proverbial roadmap, especially when you encounter the unusual and different, which you will certainly experience.”

“Five years is a long time,” Riker interjected, jovially.  Picard shot his second in command a look, clearly concerned that the man had interrupted the king of all people. 

But His Majesty did not seem disturbed by it at all.  “Five years into your future yes.  But my advice to you comes from the past.”  The king reached to his left, opening an ornate box that Picard did not notice until that moment.  Reverently, the king removed an object from the box.  “His name was Spock Grayson, son of Sarek of Vulcan,” the king began, as he held aloft the object for both Picard and Riker to see.  It was forged metal and carved stone, an interlocking circle and triangle, and one independent gemstone, all suspended from a fine golden chain.  “And this was his IDIC pendant.” 

As the king continued to speak, Picard and Riker leaned back in their seats, settling in to listen to the origin of Starfleet’s most important directive. 


	2. First Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully, this continues to be enjoyable. Thanks for clicking the 'next' button. ~ RK

“Spock, if you don’t hold still, you will never look like the little Vulcan lord that you are,” the second-most senior member of the servant’s staff gently admonished as she trailed behind the excited eight-year-old half-Vulcan as he went to his window for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning.  She was heavily pregnant with her first child.  It was enough of a hassle to work get the majority of the tougher tasks completed around the Grayson Manor.  Following around a Vulcan child, trying to get him into his formal robes so that he could properly welcome not only his mother home, but also his new father and two sisters he was bringing with him into the household.  Perhaps this was fate’s twisted and humorous way of preparing her to trail after her own little one when he or she was finally born. 

“Give me that, Natasha!” her husband laughingly ordered her, snatching Spock’s flowing outer robe from her hands.  He walked right over to Spock who still stood at his window, bouncing on his toes excitedly.  “Spock, you little pointed-eared devil, finish getting dressed!”  Spock turned to him at the sound of his voice.  Christopher Pike said nothing else to the boy, just held the outer robe toward the child.  All he had to do was turn around and slip his arms inside the sleeves.  Christopher would do the rest.  He always did. 

“They should be here soon,” Spock announced to the senior servant.  “I have never been in more anticipation for one of mother’s gifts than this.” 

“Yes,” Pike said, humoring Spock as he began to discuss it once again as he’d been doing every day for the last two weeks.  “It will certainly be different with the Viscount and his daughters here.”  It’d been the same reply each time, and it brought Spock’s constant retort.

“I hope they approve of me.”

Pike didn’t know how anyone could not approve of Spock, at least when he wasn’t playing in the dirt and creating hybrid plant breeds with the neighboring manor’s youngest servant, Hikaru Sulu.  But the Lady Amanda had indulged her son’s curiosity on the condition that Spock would always make himself presentable when the need arose or when noble visitors called to the home.  Speaking of which…

“They will love you, Spock, just as long as you look like the little lord your mother expects to present to them.”  Pike leaned forward to be more on an even eye-level with the boy.  “Try to behave today, Spock.  Be an angel for your mother.”

The mischievous spark shone in Spock’s eyes.  “But you have just called me a devil.  I cannot be both.”

Pike secured the clasps in the front of Spock’s robes.  “Well, you’re both Human and Vulcan, so you can be both angel and devil, too.”  He heard something hit the window frame from outside.  “Just be more angel than devil today.”  But the last fell on deaf ears as Spock went back to the window and flung it open.  Pike just sighed.  He knew there was no way to stop this.

“My mother and new family are arriving soon.  I cannot experiment in our greenhouse today!” Spock shouted down to someone outside. 

“You’re all dressed up like a lord!”

Pike looked at his wife.  They both shook their heads and rolled their eyes. 

“I am a lord, Hikaru!” Spock fired back.

“You never look like one!”

“I have to today.”

“You’re gonna miss it!  The apriums are ripe _today_!”

Pike didn’t even have time to make the argument that the apriums would still be ripe tomorrow before Spock ran from the window and out of his rooms.  By the time he’d taken pursuit of the boy, Spock was nowhere to be seen.  He sighed and waited at the bottom of the stairs to escort his wife, his Natasha, his number one woman, outside where they would go to finish picking some fresh bouquets for the tables in honor of their mistress’s new husband and stepdaughters. 

He just hoped that Spock would keep the juices and dirt off of his hands, his face, and especially his clothes.  He knew Lady Amanda wouldn’t mind, but he didn’t know if the Viscount would. 

Soon enough, the bell rang to announce their arrival.  It was Pike’s duty to make sure all of the staff had lined up before the house to welcome their lady home.  Natasha stood closest to the house’s entrance, as the second senior staff member.  Pike’s place was apart from the rest, several paces forward, where he would steady the horse so the rider could dismount. 

He was surprised when the rider was not Lady Amanda, but the imposing figure of who could only be her new husband.  He had sharp features and intense, focused eyes.  His figure was strong and he had the carriage of a man not used to refusal.  He looked completely relaxed as he passed through the gate of the manor, taking in his new residence as his horse cantered toward Christopher.  The Viscount looked at each of the staff as he passed them.  The horse obediently, used to the routine countless times, came right to Christopher so that he could take the reins close to the horse’s bit, rewarding the animal with a sugar cube treat.  “Welcome to Grayson Manor, Viscount.”

The Viscount nodded, but said nothing as he dismounted, and went directly to the carriage that had followed his lead through the gate.  He stood beside the doors and waited.  Pike gestured to Tyler Barnett, who quickly went forward to the carriage and opened the doors.  The Viscount clearly had a more rigid style of propriety than their former master, Lord Sarek of Vulcan, Lady Amanda’s deceased husband.  Only after Barnett opened the doors did the Viscount extend his hand. 

At the sight of Lady Amanda the entire staff relaxed.  She radiated joy at seeing her home, smiling brightly at everyone.  Her eyes scanned the line for the one she wanted most to see.  “Christopher, where is Spock?  He seems to be missing.”  Pike prayed once more that Spock would arrive clean and put together. 

Before he could reply, a small child, just about Spock’s age peeked out of the carriage.  The Viscount smiled at the girl and helped her from the carriage.  She had the same sharp features and hawk-like eyes as her father, but did not have his brown hair.  Hers shone like fire in the sunlight, the red glowing like embers.  She had the attention of everyone in front of the house, including Lady Amanda, who smiled encouragingly at the girl.  Several moments passed after the red-haired child emerged from the carriage without anything happening.  The Viscount cleared his throat pointedly.  Then, a second girl – this one a little younger – looked out of the carriage.  This girl was blonde and pale with large and inquisitive blue eyes.  He helped her from the carriage as well.  Once both of his daughters settled themselves and stood on either side of their father, the picture of future noblewomen, the Viscount met Lady Amanda’s happy and anxious eyes.  “It is certainly quaint and charming like you said, my lady.” 

“Mother!”  That single word took Lady Amanda’s attention from her husband.  A moment later, her son’s body slamming into hers took her breath away. 

“Oh, Spock, look at you, just as I left – all covered in dirt!”  Natasha and Christopher heard her try to sound deliberately more disappointed, but clearly heard the laughter she buried.  Pike was only a little disappointed that his prayers were ignored for a presentable little lord.  But seeing his lady fuss over him and brush his uncooperative hair with her fingers and the smile on both of their faces made him realize that he would not have Spock any other way.  “This was Hikaru’s doing wasn’t it?” she asked knowingly. 

“Indeed.  The apriums were ripe only today, but he could not reach them and is a terrible climber.” 

She sighed, using the edge of her own sleeve to clear her son’s face of dirt.  “So, you thought you should do it.”

“Obviously, mother.” 

She shook her head at him.  “I had hoped to present a little lord, but I must make do with this urchin, I suppose.”  She planted her hands on his shoulders and turned him to face the Viscount and his daughters.  “Spock, I want you to meet the Viscount Alexander Marcus and his daughters, Janice Lestra and Carol Ann.” 

The Viscount smiled at the dirt-smudged child that was his wife’s son.  “Hello, Spock.  Your mother barely discussed anything else about the manor.  It’s nice to meet you at last.”  He raised his voice to carry behind him to his girls.  “Little ladies, greet your stepbrother.”

In unison, Janice and Carol spoke, “Lord Spock,” and curtseyed to him.  Spock, finally behaving more angel than devil in Pike’s mind, returned the courtesy with a bow of his own.

Many hours later, after Spock had been bathed and prepared for bed, his mother came to visit him.  “Spock, I have a gift for you.”  She revealed the wrapped item from behind her back and handed it to her son.  He unwrapped it eagerly. 

“C’thia,” he read the title aloud. 

She smiled. “It means ‘reality, truth, logic, the way things are’ in Vulcan.”  She brushed his hair back with her hand fondly.  “You’ve read all of the Vulcan books in our library already, so I thought you should have another new one to explore.” 

Spock opened to the first page and realized something important about the book.  “This is a book of poetry, mother.” 

“Indeed,” she used her son’s favorite reply. 

Vulcans rarely composed poetry, he knew.  He read the first stanza of the first poem.  His eyebrows rose in surprise as he understood what he’d just read.  “Mother, Vulcans do not compose poetry that discusses affection for another being.”

 “Pre-reformation Vulcans did, Spock,” she informed him.  If only she could tell him of the sorts of love poetry his father had written her during their courtship.  Only later he had confessed to changing choice words periodically in traditional, romantic Vulcan poetry, substituting human words and concepts so that she could understand what he tried to convey.  Even later he had told her the name of the book he’d referenced, and only now had she been able to find one of the few remaining copies so that her son could read it.  “This book combines Vulcan concepts and language and human poetic organization and structure.” 

Spock looked at her strangely before comprehension dawned in his eyes.  “It is a hybrid form of literature just as I am a hybrid form of being.”

It was not the way Amanda would ever have phrased it, but it would have to do.  “The best of both Vulcan and Terra,” she agreed. 

“Shall we read some together?” he asked.

“Spock, darling,” she said, “Unlike you, I endured an entire day of traveling and settling in our new family.”  Spock had helped Janice and Carol situate themselves in their rooms, too, but Janice seemed to have a very particular place and arrangement for everything she owned, so he left her to her own devices.  Carol, on the other hand, had graciously accepted his help, even though he had no idea what to do with some of her possessions. 

“Yes,” he conceded.  “And you are a wife now.  Just as I am a brother.” 

Amanda hid the sadness in her eyes at the word with a laugh.  “Yes, I’m a wife again.”  She kissed his forehead.  “But I am your mother first and always.  We’ll need to adjust to having other in our lives, won’t we?” 

“Indeed, mother.” 

“Do you like them?”

Spock did not know how to answer the question.  “I helped Carol settle.  She is kind.  I did not interact long with Janice.  And I only spoke to the Viscount during our meal.  I have no opinion on either of them yet.”

She laughed.  “One out of three is good enough to start.”  She began to tuck him into bed.  “You’ll have lots of time to interact with them when I have to leave for Andoria in a week.”

Spock didn’t know about this.  “You have only returned today.”

“It’s a conference on Diversity of Species in Marriage.  As a representative and participant of such a union, I have to attend it.”  She did not wish to tell him that there were still groups of all kinds of individuals that openly, and sometimes violently, opposed interspecies unions, and that there was always a risk of attack at conferences like this.  Spock would have enough to worry about trying to adjust to three new family members all at once in what had been a quiet home.  She did not wish to worry him about something that would be unlikely to happen.  “I will be away for four weeks.”

“So long?” he asked as he snuggled into his covers.  “Must it be four?  Can you not shorten it?”

She realized with some amusement that Spock was nervous to be left in the house with his new family without her.  “I will see if I can return a week early, if you wish, but nothing more than that.”

Spock nodded glumly.  “It will do.” 

Amanda shook her head fondly at him.  He denied having his emotions, but they were clear in his expressions.  “Give me a kiss, darling.  We survived day one.”  Spock pecked her cheek then curled up in bed, his book clutched in his hand.  “I’ll see you for day two.”

“Sleep peacefully, mother.”

“You, too, my son.”

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

A week passed too quickly.  The staff had lined up again in front of the house, but this time it was to bid farewell to Lady Amanda.  The Viscount, his daughters, and Spock were accompanied to the space port by Christopher Pike and Tyler Barnett.  Everything had been secured aboard the shuttle that would carry her to the main vessel.  All that was left was to say goodbye. 

Amanda turned and saw the saddened expression on her son first.  When she looked to her new daughters and her husband, their expressions were also less than happy.  “I will only be gone for three to four weeks.  It is not terribly long.”

The Viscount took her hands tenderly.  “It will be an empty manor without your laughter.” 

She smiled at him.  “But maybe the girls and Spock will get to know each other better on their own without our pressuring them.”  She always was optimistic about things, especially when it came to anyone taking a liking to Spock.  Even though her opinion of her son was biased as his mother, Pike agreed with it. 

Amanda said goodbye to Janice and Carol but knelt before Spock.  “Perhaps you can get the girls to spend time in the garden with you and Hikaru.”  By Spock’s doubtful expression and slumped posture, it was clear he had little faith of that ever happening.  “I’ll see you in three weeks, my darling.”  Spock threw himself against his mother and buried his face in her clothes.  He did not want her to leave this time.

But they called for those departing to board the shuttle then.  Amanda separated herself from Spock, and affectionately traced her index and middle finger along his cheek.  Spock raised his own fingers and touched the back of her palm, in what Pike knew to be the Vulcan form of kissing.  Not romantic kissing.  She had never taught him that.  She was waiting until it was necessary to arrange a match for him or until he found love of his own.  Only then would she teach her son how to demonstrate romantic love as a Vulcan would – quietly, solemnly, but powerfully and completely. 

Then, Amanda boarded the shuttle and its engines roared.  It lifted away from the platform.  Pike came to stand behind Spock, reassuringly placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder.  After all, it was traditional to watch Lady Amanda’s departure until her transport was no longer visible to their eyes. 

But the Viscount did not know of this tradition.  He turned away from the platform, calling for his daughters to follow.  When one of them mentioned that Spock and Christopher had lingered behind, the Viscount turned back to them.  “Come along, Spock.  We’re returning to the manor.” 

Spock did not look away from the shuttle, but Pike did.  “Sir, it is traditional for him to watch her departure until he can’t see her anymore.”

The Viscount sighed.  “Well, bring him along after us, then.”  He began away again, not even waiting for Pike’s reply. 

As he began to turn back to continue observing the departure with Spock, the boy screamed a single word.  “Mother!”  Pike looked up to the sky—

—and saw the flames. Lady Amanda’s shuttle was on fire and had begun plummeting to the surface. 

Spock tore from his grasp as he started off towards the shuttle.  Pike had run after him, but only seconds later shoved aside by the frantic Viscount.  He grabbed his new stepson and slammed him against his chest.  “Stop!  You can’t get to her. You’ll never—”  His personal communicator activated, and he grabbed it.  “Marcus,” he announced himself.

“Alexander?” came Lady Amanda’s panicked voice.  “Something happened to the shuttle.”

“Mother!” screamed Spock. 

The Viscount shoved the boy away from him to speak to his wife.  Pike went to his knees and grabbed Spock, holding him still so he could focus on the conversation.  “I know; we saw it.”

“We’ve lost one of the engines, Alexander, we—”  There was the sound of an explosion and passengers screaming.  “I think that was the other one,” Amanda said, no longer able to disguise her terror.  “Alexander, please tell my son that—”

“Mother, no!” Spock cried out again. 

“Spock?” she called through the Viscount’s communicator.  “Oh God, Spock.  Listen to me, darling.  Your stepfather will take care of you now, okay?”  Pike lifted Spock into his arms and took him close to Viscount Marcus and the communicator. 

“No,” Spock whispered in horror, understanding that she was saying goodbye permanently.  “Don’t go, Mother.”  He wasn’t looking at the communicator, but at the doomed shuttle falling from the sky. 

“I have to, my son.  Forgive me,” she sobbed.  Another explosion sounded from the shuttle.  “But remember that I love you, Spock.  I love you so much.”

Spock had begun to cry as he watched the shuttle quickly approach the ground.  “Mother,” he cried, as though the word alone could save her life. 

“Do you hear me, sa-fu?  I cherish thee!”  Pike recognized the Vulcan phrasing.  He hadn’t heard it spoken since before Lord Sarek’s death. 

“I love you, too, Mother,” Spock finally managed, just as he lost sight of the shuttle.

“I cherish—”

Pike saw the explosion as the shuttle met the earth, felt the heartbroken sobs of the child in his arms, and heard the static of Viscount Marcus’s communicator. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

The king was irate, and in such times not even the queen’s good sense could make him see sense.  The middle of the night was no time to break the news to their son – their second son, really – of his new responsibilities upon the delivery of a short and succinctly worded note that had arrived to their hands just before they’d retired to sleep.  They had both read it, and an argument resulted almost immediately afterwards that lasted for many hours into the night. 

“The treaty has already been signed, Winona!” George roared as he stalked through the corridor in his sleepwear, a heavy robe over it but billowing behind him.  “My son will honor it or by refusing demand that I risk open war!”

Queen Winona hurried after her husband as she struggled to get her arm into the sleeve of her own heavy robe to avoid running after George in nothing but her nightgown.  “We made the treaty for a different son, George, not this one!”

He spun to face her, holding up the note that caused their tempers to flare and their night to be sleepless.  “And because of this everything changes!”  His pause allowed her to catch up to him.  But she didn’t have time to catch her breath.  “The boy will obey me in this or there will be hell to pay for him.”

Winona took her son’s side, as it was clear his father would not.  Besides that, he was not even here to defend himself against his father.  He was most likely asleep by now, dreaming of visiting other worlds and journeying through the stars – if not as an explorer than at least as a…well, probably an impatient diplomat.  But, she would try to help her boy in this.  She objected to this as much as he likely would.  “He has never even met the girl.  And therefore he can’t possibly love her.”

“A marriage treaty has nothing to do with love, Winona!”

They were nearly to their son’s chambers.  “Then, maybe they should be about love!”  There.  Maybe if she shouted at her husband, her son would be awakened before George barged into the rooms as he’d planned. 

“It’s his responsibility now, and he must begin to accept that.”

“He needs time to adjust to all of this.  Throwing this marriage at him in the middle of the night will accomplish nothing but his anger at you.”

George didn’t even stop walking.  “I’m already angry.  If he wants to fight about it, I’ve already had hours with you to warm up for one with him.”  The guards posted at their son’s door opened them at their approach.  The king never paused as he barreled into the rooms.  “I’m so angry about all this that I can’t even sleep.  And if I can’t sleep, he won’t either!”  He went directly into their son’s bedchamber, throwing open the door.  “James, wake up!”

Silence answered the king.  Winona stepped into the chambers just behind her husband, and activated the lights.  Then they saw it.  A thick, knotted rope led directly out of the window.  The king and queen both went to it, and leaned out of the window.  There, on the grounds of the palace, but already having gained quite a distance was a single rider, cloaked to hide his face, the horse galloping hard towards the gate.  Winona sighed.  The cloak did nothing to disguise the rider’s identity.  A mother always knew her child, and it seemed that hers was fleeing from home.

“Assemble the guards!” the king ordered.  “Find him and bring him back!”

She shook her head then turned away from the window.  Her gaze landed on the boy’s desk.  Upon it lay an open and unfolded letter.  At first, the queen dreaded its contents.  But as she picked it up and read it, she understood why her son had fled.  She handed the letter to her furious husband, who had been heaving the rope back into the rooms from the window.  “He already knew about it.  And he knew you would come right to him screaming at him.” 

George let it fall to the floor, but he crumbled the copy that they’d received. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

He fought against the rooster’s call, wanting to remain in his dream – where he was permitted to dress in finery like he’d never felt, where he did not have to fall to the ground at the sight of royalty but only had to politely bow, where he was not ashamed of who he was or of what he was, where he could simply be Spock as his mother had been shaping him to be.  But the rooster persisted and Spock admitted to himself that it was only a dream and that this was his reality.  He did not wear finery.  He had to fully genuflect if any noble-born, especially royalty, appeared in his eyesight.  His mixed heritage was shameful.  He was a servant in his childhood home.  But, ultimately, he was no one.

He set aside the worn book he’d been reading in front of the glow of the fireplace last night.  He’d read it hundreds of times in the last twelve years, ever since she brought it home for him.  He knew it both in Vulcan translation and the Human Standard, and occasionally, he tried to imagine which would be his father’s preferred selection, or his mother’s favorite.  Reading the book of Vulcan Poetry was the only way he knew – or was able – to remember and honor his mother.  That and to keep the manor alive as long as it was in his power.  Very few things were in his control since his mother’s death, but the land and home she loved so much would not end as long as he breathed.  If it meant serving his – _the Viscount_! – then so be it.  At least he was still in his home. 

Spock rose and went to the stables.  Ever since Christopher Pike’s injury that resulted in the permanent use of a cane, if his chores permitted it, or a pronounced limp if he needed the use of both hands, Spock had taken his duties in the stables.  Viscount Marcus had struck a horse for being frightened while bearing him.  Pike had been removing the horse’s saddle, turned away from the animal.  Then, the Viscount had struck his horse, and the animal reacted instinctively, kicking.  Pike had been in the way.  Spock suspected that, in truth, Pike was a little frightened of horses since, but no one had ever discussed it with him.  Spock did not mind the duties.  The horses did not care that he was half-Human or half-Vulcan.  They did not insult him or his home.  They were actually quite affectionate with him.  No, he did not mind the chores in the stables. 

As he arrived, weighed down with a large bucket filled with a mix of sugar beets, grass, fruits and some vegetables, Spock heard a strange sort of shuffling.  He grew immediately alert.  “Come on, you stubborn beast,” an unfamiliar voice groaned in frustration.  Whoever this was, he had no business being here in his manor’s stables.  Moving silently, Spock set down the feed bucket and picked up the empty bucket from yesterday, the remnants of uneaten and limp leaves still stuck to the bottom of it.  He walked slowly toward where the man’s voice came from.  He was grateful that his long hair was still tied back from yesterday’s work.  It would keep his eyesight clear.  Usually, he did not bother to tie his hair back until after he’d fed the horses. 

He saw the horse rear in protest four stalls away.  The gate was flung open by a strange, cloaked man.  Then Spock realized that this man intended to steal one of his horses.  That was unacceptable.  “Stop, thief!” Spock shouted as he quickly slipped around the edge of the gate to the stall and swung the bucket.  The sound of impact and the groan afterward was satisfying for only a moment.  “I will not permit you to take my horse!”  That horse, however, was still rearing and nervous, and now a threat to the person he’d knocked off his feet.  Spock went to calm his horse, and to try to get her out of the stall, away from the man so that he would not be crushed or killed.  He got her out of the gate enough for her to get the idea.  She cantered out of the stables, but not in the terror-filled flight of a bolt.  She was anxious to get outside.  Spock knew he would find her grazing later. 

He was brought back to the present as the strange man grab the bucket from his hand, toss it aside, and then shoved him so he could pass Spock and headed to another stall.  “My own has thrown a shoe.”  Spock followed the man to where he was undoing the next stall’s gate.  “I need a horse.”

Spock pulled him away by the shoulder, and then pushed him away from the stall gate.  “And you assume I will simply let you steal one of mine?”

“I really don’t have a choice!”

“Yet you leave me none!”  He was angry now at this man.  Who was he to think he had the right to take someone else’s horse?  Perhaps he was insane.  “Go, or I will wake the Viscount, and you will be apprehended by the king’s authorities!”  Spock snatched the broom from where it leaned along the stalls and swung it hard, knocking the man backwards into another stall across the stable.

“I was going to bring it back!” he cried as he began to stumble toward the doors of the stable. 

“I do not believe you!”  Spock pursued, slid the broom handle by the man’s feet, and then took them out from under him.  The man went down onto his back with a sharp cry, but a moment later leapt to his feet in outraged fury.  Between the fall and his standing again the cloak had come away from his face.

As soon as he saw him, Spock knew he was doomed.  He fell to his knees immediately, his hands the only thing preventing him from stopping his head from impacting the ground.  “Your Highness, forgive me!” he begged.  “I was unaware of your presence!”  If he had known the man trying to take his horse was the prince, Spock never would have swung that bucket.  He never would have struck him or tripped him with the broom.  He would have done everything and anything the prince demanded – even if it were to take one of his mother’s horses.  Spock was no one of importance.  He was inconsequential.  And apparently, now his life would soon no longer matter to anyone. 

“Really?” the prince asked, disbelief obvious in his voice.  By the sounds, he was readying another horse for his use.  “So you were just sweeping the floor?”

“No, Highness,” Spock replied to the dirt in front of his face.  “I mistook you for a common thief.  No apology will undo the damage I have inflicted upon you, and because of my injuries to your person, I am aware the consequence is my life.”

The sounds abruptly stopped.  Spock did not dare look anywhere but the ground.  “If you stay silent on seeing me here, I’ll overlook it.”  He heard the prince climb onto the horse’s back and begin to guide it from the stable.  But he could not understand why the prince was allowing his conduct to stand.  Spock expected to die at that moment, there in the stables.  And if not there, then hauled off by the palace guards and executed.  He did not expect to be pardoned – immediately – and released of all punishment by the prince. 

He felt he should say something.  “I could assist you in preparing a younger and more energetic mount, if you so desire it, Your Highness.” 

The prince halted the horse close to Spock’s prostrated form.  “The only thing I desire is to break through my cage within the palace walls.”  Somehow, Spock sympathized with the prince.  He knew what it was like to be trapped within your own home.  But he did not dare compare his life to a prince’s aloud. 

A small bag landed by his hand, the items inside making a sound Spock could identify immediately.  The prince had tossed a pouch of credits at him.  By the time Spock looked up, the prince had already brought the horse to a light canter heading out of the stable.  But he did call back to Spock.  “An incentive for your silence.” 


	3. Recoveries

Breakfast was being served, and Spock had arrived to the kitchens late.  Number One turned as he came through the door.  “Where have you been?” she asked in hushed alarm.

Spock opened his mouth to reply, but the summoning voice of the Viscount from above them called his name, instilling further urgency in his preparations to deliver some items for their breakfast table.  He hurried towards the table where Natasha was slicing the freshly baked bread.  He had something important to tell her. 

On the way, he passed Natasha’s almost twelve-year-old son, who was busily washing the apples from the orchard.  “I hate him,” the child mumbled as he began to viciously scrub the dirt from the fruit.  “I hate his voice, I hate his clothes, I hate his face, I hate everything about him.”  He tossed the clean apple into the large bowl to his right.  “Him and his stupid daughters.” 

Ordinarily, Spock would have spoken to the boy to lower his voice or to say nothing at all.  And if he didn’t say it, then Natasha certainly would.  But not today.  Spock squeezed Pavel Chekov-Pike’s shoulder sympathetically as he passed the child on his way to speak quietly with Natasha.  “Look at this,” he said, taking out the small pouch of credits and setting it between them on the table. 

Natasha looked at it for a moment, then took it and emptied it onto the worktable.  She gasped.  Until that moment, Spock did not even know how much the small bag had contained.  At the sound of the credits hitting the table, Pavel abandoned his duty and came over to see.  Mother and son exchanged a look before she turned to Spock.  “Where did you get this?”

Spock did not dare tell them it had been the prince.  He’d only received this bag to stay silent.  So, instead he omitted his identity precisely, and chose a vaguer descriptor.  “A forgiving young man.”  He quickly took a mental count of the bag’s value, amazed that it approximately totaled near two thousand credits.  It would be more than enough.  “And I know to what use I can put it.” 

Natasha was overwhelmed in emotion, but Pavel found his voice first.  “Dad?”  Spock nodded.  She spoke then, and it was only her husband’s name. 

“If the Viscount can sell him to pay his debts—”

“He said it was my father’s debts,” Pavel corrected.

Spock looked at the boy.  “To pay a debt, to whomever it belonged, then these credits should cover that cost, and restore him to us.”

Pavel’s eyes grew wide.  “Dad can come home?”

Natasha’s dimmed in contrast to her son’s hope.  “Spock, you know what happened to everyone else when the Viscount did this.  Chris is most likely bound for Kronos.”

Spock shook his head.  He refused to accept that fate for Christopher Pike.  “I will not allow it for him.  I will not.”

“We are waiting, Spock!” shouted the Viscount from the dining room.

Natasha swept the credits back into the little pouch, and handed it to her son, who stared at it cluelessly.  He had no idea what he was supposed to do with it.  “You’d better get up there, lordling,” she said to Spock.  “Before he comes down and finds these credits.”  She shoved the plate of bread, a bowl of cinnamon butter, and a platter of eggs at Spock, who took them all easily, balancing them with practiced skill.  A moment later, he turned and headed to the kitchen to greet his stepfamily. 

Natasha looked down at Pavel still holding the bag.  “What are you waiting for, child?  Put that away if we ever want to see your father again.”  Pavel scurried to the corner of the room, where several crates of vegetables waited for him to clean.  He shoved the crates aside just enough to reach the small stone in the very corner.  With deft familiarity, Pavel lifted the stone away, slid the pouch in the hollow space beneath the stone, then slid the flooring back into place, disturbing the dirt of the floor over it again.  He slid the crates back over the hiding place.  When he turned around, an accomplished smile on his face, Natasha was there to pat his clothing down of the loose dirt and dust.  “Now, wash your hands.  You’re still working with food.”

Pavel frowned.  He didn’t know why he had to bother washing his hands if he was dealing with dirty food anyway, but he did what his mother said. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

“Good morning, Viscount, Janice, Carol,” Spock greeted as he set the food he carried onto the table.  He did not fail to notice that, of the three of them, Carol had been the only one to bid him good morning in return.  He met her gaze and saw kindness in her eyes that never quite managed to show in Janice’s or the Viscount’s eyes.  He poured the coffee for Viscount Marcus first, moving second to fill Janice’s cranberry juice, and lastly, as always, to Carol for her water. 

“What kept you so long?” the Viscount asked. 

Spock already had an answer in mind long before he’d arrived back to the house, knowing the Viscount would pose the question.  “One of the horses bolted from the stables today.  I had to fetch her back.”

The Viscount nodded as he dropped a sugar cube into his coffee.  Even though he always refused the milk in his coffee, he still insisted on it being on the serving tray.  It was only proper.  Spock made sure it did not go to waste.  He usually gave it to Pavel, who either drank it himself or brought it to the neighboring manor for Sulu’s cat.  Spock suspected the little feline liked Pavel better than Sulu for that simple treat.  Though on a rare occasion when both the Viscount and Janice were elsewhere and left Carol behind, she would come down to make a milk and fruit smoothie from the leftover milk.  She’d even share it with Spock, but that was even rarer.  She never said a word. 

Janice, however, couldn’t seem to shut up.  “You fell asleep in front of the fire again, didn’t you?  Reading your boring book again?”  The way she smiled already told Spock that she knew very well that he had been reading the Vulcan poetry book. 

The Viscount meticulously sliced his sausages.  “Perhaps it is the only thing he _can_ read, Janice, my dearest.” 

“And look how dirty he is, Father,” Janice continued, crinkling her nose just so in offense.  “It’s not surprising, really, considering he’s just a dirty half-breed mutt.”  It was an insult he had heard endlessly for twelve years, but it was one of the very few that still stung.  As a child, he had been proud to be of a diverse heritage, to be unique.  But, now, that pride had dwindled into a quiet shame.  Perhaps Janice’s scorn was correct. 

He turned away from the table, intending to take away the coffee serving tray, but was stopped by the Viscount’s terse voice.  “Spock, come here, boy.  You do seem to have—” he trailed off as he looked him over head to toe before deciding on the phrase, “—offensively let your appearance go.  What sort of temptation would induce you to put a little more effort into yourself?”

He had grown used to Janice’s barbs, but in the times that his stepfather accused him of similar faults – dirtiness, laziness, unintelligence – it always broke his emotional control a little more.  “I do not mean to offend you, sir.” 

“Well, you do a good job of it,” Janice interjected. 

The Viscount ignored her, and thus did not correct her behavior.  Instead, he turned back to his meal, reached for his cup and sipped his sweetened black coffee. 

Spock sighed to himself.  Should he ask it of the Viscount?  The other alternative was to simply take the matter into his own hands as he had told Natasha and Pavel.  But if – on the very slim chance – that the Viscount agreed to his request, it would mean all of those credits could stay with them for a time when they might need them again.  He nodded to himself, decision made.  It was worth the try.  “Perhaps, if Christopher were to return, we would not—”

The Viscount whirled to face him, furious.  “Out of the question!  Ever since our needs have exceeded the income of this sad little manor, I’ve had no choice but to dismiss the majority of the staff so all of us wouldn’t starve.  I’ve only been able to afford to keep Pike, Natasha, and their little brat.  I’ve kept you out of the memory of your mother.  And ever since Pike got himself almost crippled, his value to me and this house has almost disappeared.  We as a family have to survive.  It was a difficult choice, but I made it.  All I ask of you is to help this manor survive so that we all can as well, and that you do so in silence.  Is that too difficult for you?”

“No, Viscount,” Spock whispered, barely trusting his own voice.  Janice smiled at her father’s words and Spock’s timid reply.  Carol swallowed uncomfortably in her seat.  She felt her own frown of disapproval beginning to show.  Not wanting to let her sister or father see it, she picked up her water glass and drank from it until her expression returned to the blankness her father preferred of her. 

“I will not hear another word of useless staff members returning to this house from you again.  Am I understood?” 

“You are, Viscount.”

“Get out,” Viscount Marcus dismissed Spock curtly. 

Spock turned and tried to keep his emotions under control as he went back to the kitchens with the coffee tray.  Of all of the things he disagreed with his stepfather most about Christopher Pike, it was that he had no value.  Spock valued him, and he knew that his wife and son did as well.  He may not be as physically capable as he had been, but he had helped to raise Spock.  Spock loved the man.  Having known what it was like to grow up without his real father, Spock refused to allow this to happen to Pavel.  He would have to continue with his original idea, and he would not allow himself to fail his family. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

He hadn’t encountered another person until it nearly reached midday.  And when he finally did, it was an entire group of people.  After only observing it for a moment he realized what the situation actually entailed.  The gypsy-pirates were attacking this small group of individuals.  The leader of the besieged people was a distressed man, older than himself, and begging the gypsies to leave him, his boys, and his luggage alone.  His pleas did nothing.  Not even his final, most desperate one: “Not that!  You can take anythin’ but that!”

One of them, a female with bright red hair and beautiful green skin, an Orion, spun to face his direction.  How had she seen or heard him?  He’d halted his horse.  She gave a quick and high-pitched cry to her followers, and then snapped a single command.  There were obviously those in her troop that did not speak Orion as the call in several languages was shouted among themselves.  He finally heard one that he understood.  “The Royal Guard!”  What?  He was alone. 

Then he heard it, the thundering of many horses.  He turned, already knowing what he would see pursuing him on the same trail.  He sighed in frustration before spurring his horse forward, urging her to gallop.  He couldn’t believe they’d found him already!  He would’ve put a better distance between them had it not been for the incident with the servant boy in the stables.  His flight was delayed as the frantic man went right up to his horse, blocking the way.  “Please, sir!  He’s getting away with it!”

He felt for the man, truly, but if he were to go after the thief and return here, he would be recovered by his father’s men.  He did not want that.  “They will assist you, but I can’t.”

“Please!” wailed the man.  He grabbed his horse’s reins and stopped them again.  “It’s everything to me.  It’s my life!” 

The guards had nearly reached them.  How long could he keep this up?  He’d already stolen a horse!  And he would have to steal passage on a space vessel if he could even manage to get near one without being recognized.  He was already a thief, same as the man who stole whatever had so desperately upset this man.  He realized that he was no different than the thief who helped sack this man’s baggage.  He was no thief; he was a prince.  The Royal Guard would have caught him sooner or later anyway.  He sighed, then kicked his horse in pursuit of the man who stole whatever was so valuable. 

It did not take him long to catch up to him.  Within minutes he rode alongside the fleeing gypsy.  “Give me that!” he shouted at the vagrant.  But the gypsy just laughed and turned sharply, forcing him to stop, turn slower, and work his mount back to a full gallop.  That cost him both time and distance.  He reached out and grabbed the strap of the bag the gypsy had slung across his chest.  With a firm yank, both bag and gypsy tumbled from the back of the horse. 

Unfortunately, it also pulled him from his as well.  They both tumbled on the rough terrain of the forest until he managed to wrestle the bag off of the gypsy’s body.  He had one moment of triumph before he was on the ground again, the other man having tripped him.  As the stranger reached again for the bag, he received a solid kick to his chest, sending him backwards and away from both bag and prince.  The gypsy, even with the wind kicked from him, managed to get to his feet first.  “Keep it!” he wheezed.  “Not worth dying for!” 

He had no idea why he let the gypsy go.  He’d explain the encounter differently later if someone asked about it.  Right then, all he wanted to do was catch his breath. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

“Has your logic left you?” Hikaru Sulu lamented as he turned from the window.  Spock was his oldest friend, and he’d been there as they’d experimented with hybrid plants, and had been there after his mother’s death, and every day since.  They’d come up with strange ideas together, but never would Sulu have thought that Spock would believe something like this would be a good plan.  “You know what they’ll do to you if you’re discovered – if they figure out you’re only a servant.” 

Spock did know but that didn’t stop him from stripping his plain, well-worn clothing with the intention of replacing it with that of Viscount Marcus’s fine clothing.  “But I cannot let them take Christopher, not there.”  Sulu turned away from his friend to give him a little privacy as he changed.  He may not agree with Spock’s plan, may try to persuade him that the entire thing is folly, but he knew the futility in trying to stop him.  “If I were in his position, you would be taking my actions.”

That made Sulu turn back to Spock.  “I would not!”  Neither of them acknowledged Spock’s state of undress.  The discussion was too important for such immaturities.  “Because I would have no idea how to act or talk or anything!  That’s why pretenders are so obvious to the real nobles – they’re easy to spot!”

Spock just barely smiled.  “Easy if they’re actually searching for a pretender.”

Sulu knew he was running out of time to make his point to his friend, and he knew he was losing.  Spock was stubborn, one of the most stubborn people he’d ever known.  “Neither of us have been to court.”

Spock shook his head, reaching for the shirt, the first of many layers he would need to don.  “I will not be recognized, Sulu.”  He would not be – at least not by name.

Sulu scoffed.  “You have pointed ears.  That’s very recognizable.”

It was times like this where Spock cursed his Vulcan heritage.  “There must be other Vulcan lords and ladies in the court.  After all, isn’t the Royal Family seeking an alliance with Vulcan?  I will simply pass myself as a lord.”

Sulu shook his head, that bad feeling growing worse in his stomach.  “Terrible idea, Spock.”  He helped him into the second layer of the Viscount’s finery. 

“Yet you are still assisting me in carrying it through,” Spock pointed out to Sulu. 

He sighed.  “No one will believe you, no matter how lordly you look.”

Spock gave him the long coat and turned so that Sulu could help him get his arms through the sleeves smoothly.  “It is either go to court as a servant with these credits, be refused entrance, and accused – potentially arrested – for theft, or I arrive with the credits in a manner that would draw the least attention, and that would result in the least likelihood of failure or imprisonment.  I have chosen the scenario that contains the higher percentage of success in the liberation and return of Christopher Pike to this estate.”

It was clear in that moment that Spock’s mind had been firmly decided.  “And what have you chosen to tell the Viscount?”

Sulu saw the hesitation, the doubt, in Spock’s eyes.  “That I have gone to pick wildflowers for Janice’s rooms.” 

He nodded, knowing that Spock would never have that time to do it with where he planned to be today.  “I’ll handle it while you’re gone.  Where are they all now?”

“Spending more credits than he has.  Probably purchasing something for Janice. She is the leading reason why Viscount Marcus has amassed so much debt and dismissed the staff.  He hopes to wed her to someone richer than himself.” 

Sulu snorted through his smile.  “Which is almost everyone.”  They shared a smile.  It was true.  Thanks to the debt Viscount Marcus had affixed to his name and the estate, nearly every other noble household – both higher and below him in station – contained more wealth. 

Spock broke the jovial mood first, straightening his clothing, fussing with it self-consciously.  “They are due to return in approximately four hours.  I have plenty of time to complete my task.”

Sulu came forward and straightened his collar for him.  “Be sure you take horses.”

“Of course.”  He shifted his weight experimentally.  “I cannot wear these boots without risk of falling.”

He stepped back to look his friend over from head to foot.  He looked wonderful.  “No one will notice, Spock, believe me.  Wear your own boots.  Just make sure the overcoat stays closed so they can’t be seen too much.”  Spock nodded, removed the Viscount’s and then slipped his feet back into his own footwear.  When he stood straight again, he kept his gaze lowered, a habit conditioned into him from years of servitude.  This would not do.  “No.  Head up.”  Spock lifted his head obediently.  Sulu walked to his friend slowly, keeping eye contact.  He wanted this to truly sink in with Spock.  “You are proud of who you are.  You are Spock Grayson, son of Sarek, and no one can take that from you.”  He planted his hands on Spock’s shoulders supportively.  “You owe nothing to no one.”  He knew he’d gotten through to him when Spock’s eyes shone with gratitude.  “Now, come with me,” Sulu said, turning and walking away.  “Number One’s the only one who’d know around here what a Vulcan lord’s hair would look like.”

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

He had to face reality eventually.  Once he recovered his breath, he found his – admittedly now, stolen – horse, climbed back onto the animal and headed back to where he’d encountered the desperate man for whom he’d recovered this…whatever happened to be inside the bag.  He was tired from running and riding all night and half of the day.  But that didn’t wear him out nearly as much as the last ten minutes.  He came over the hill and was greeted by a very enthusiastic and loud, “Thank you!” long before he reached the disheveled man.  He gave him back the bag without a word. 

A rider came up beside him, the horse huffing as much as the man astride it.  “Jim, you promised you’d stop this shit!  I’m too old to keep running after you whenever you have a bit of a panic spree!”

He grimaced as he felt and heard his back crack as he dismounted, mostly to get away from the other rider’s accusing finger pointed at his face.  “I lied, Bones!  I thought that, as the second son, I wouldn’t be tied to Terra.  That I could do other things, go to the stars.”

“You only got as far as the woods, laddie,” said the man for whom he’d rescued the bag and its mystery item.  He was removing it from the bag now, probably intending to check that whatever it was remained unbroken. 

Jim ignored the man’s rudeness, never mind his lack of proper address to a prince.  “I realized I probably wouldn’t make it past a spaceport, and never make it to a ship.”  He instead found himself too curious about what had been concealed in that bag to avoid walking over to the man.  “It’s difficult when your family owns all of them.” 

It was a datapad.  The other man activated its power and quickly navigated his way to a very specific and buried file location.  “What’s so important on there?” Jim found himself asking, his curiosity now overwhelming.  “You said it was your life.”

The other man smiled at him indulgingly before he opened a file of very complex and complicated-looking mathematics that Jim found completely fascinating.  “What you love,” said the apparent mathematician, “is your life, Sire.”

“What is all that?”

“A sort of transport equation that I’ve tried to tweak a bit to make it do a wee bit more than it does now.”

He was intrigued.  “Do more in what way?”

The other man looked at him conspiratorially.  “To make shuttlecraft obsolete, for starters.”

Then, he understood that this man was someone for whom he’d been waiting his entire life – a true visionary!  In his excitement of the realization, Jim grabbed both of the man’s shoulders and declared, “You’re the answer!  I can skip the spacesports completely and go right to a ship!”

That was when his annoyed keeper decided to speak up.  He could handle Jim’s temper, he could handle Jim’s sparring, but he could not handle his scheming and implausible re-writing of reality in which he lived.  “Now, wait a minute, Prince Jimbo!” he interrupted.  “If he beams your ass into space, I’d have to arrest Mister Scott for treason or something.  Now, how would I explain to the King that his invited guest is currently living in a cell below his castle?”

The prince heard nothing past the man’s name.  He stared at the disheveled genius that stood before him.  “Montgomery Scott?” he asked unnecessarily, since he already knew it was the renowned Scotsman.  “I’ve read most of your theories.”  If he couldn’t use the man’s scientific ideas to escape his family and his position, then perhaps there was an alternative route.  And this man might be its key.  “You are the embodiment of progress.  If you have my father’s ear then maybe he’ll listen to you about the necessity of ditching archaic practices that serve no logical purpose in this day and age!”

Montgomery Scott stared at Prince James like he was a rabid animal.  “Prince, laddie, I don’t understand, I—” he stopped as he looked to the rider pleadingly, “—Captain McCoy, translate that ramblin’ mess.”

McCoy shifted on the horse, disliking that the Scotsman he’d been ordered to escort to the palace put him on the spot.  It was only coincidence that he came across both the engineer and Jim in the same place.  He’d been expecting a much longer day of prince-hunting.  When Jim then turned to him, an expectant expression on his face, he decided that he would enjoy himself for the time being.  The brat had him up and about since the middle of last night.  The prince owed him a good jab at his expense.  “Prince James, here, has Arranged Marriage Syndrome, among other things like an impressive list of allergies.”

The Scotsman burst out laughing.  Jim glared at them both.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

With reluctance and a little bit of sheepishness, Prince James and Captain McCoy led their strange entourage through the main gates to the manor from which he’d stolen his horse earlier that day.  He tried to convince Bones to have some of the Royal Guard return it, but McCoy wouldn’t have it any other way but to detour to the scene of the crime personally.  At least McCoy rode beside him and he didn’t make him trot all the way to the house on his own like a small boy being punished.  They had, however, left the Scotsman and his small party on the main road while they completed their errand. 

They hadn’t even fully arrived in front of the house before its master emerged from the door.  “Your Highness,” the man welcomed them, bowing deeply to them.  “What a pleasant yet unexpected visit.  What brought you to honor my home with your presence, if I may ask?”

Jim managed a sheepish smile.  “Actually, Viscount, the return of your horse.”

“I see,” Marcus said in a tone indicating that he most definitely did not see.  “It escaped then?”  He vaguely recalled Spock mentioning something about a horse bolting this morning.  As he tried to recall whether or not the half-breed mentioned anything about their prince being involved, Jim summoned one of the guards forward.  The man led the stolen – borrowed – horse by the reins.  The prince quickly told him where the stables were located and to ensure the horse was properly secured inside.  By the time, the prince resumed speaking to Marcus, he concluded that Spock most assuredly did not mention encountering the prince to them during breakfast. 

“Not exactly escaped.  I was in need of a horse this morning.  When I took it I alarmed one of your servants.”

“Oh?”  He already suspected Spock.  What he could not figure out was the boy’s reason to conceal this.  Spock had always been honest.  Why now would he cease to be?

“A man with…”  Jim trailed off, trying to quickly determine what he should say.  He didn’t want the servant boy to end up in serious trouble.  He’d already forgiven him, considering he was only protecting the home and his charges.  Jim had also cloaked himself, so it wasn’t as though the boy could have easily seen that he was assaulting his prince.  He admired the boy’s loyalty to his master and the estate.  Finally, he settled on a phrase.  “…a very protective enthusiasm for your home.”

“I see,” Marcus replied emptily.  This definitely sounded like Spock. 

The prince began to laugh to himself.  “He was quite fierce, actually.”

Marcus felt his expression harden involuntarily.  “I will have a word with him as soon as possible, Your Highness.”  Jim, for a reason he could not explain, worried for the boy.  It seemed that his choice of words would get him into trouble after all.  He frowned at the realization.  “Just be assured,” the Viscount continued, “that you are welcome to anything my estate can offer you whenever you have need of it.”

Jim barely heard his words.  He was too distracted by the commotion behind the Viscount as two young ladies came rushing down the stairs and practically exploding out of the door.  “Ah, my dears,” Marcus said, a little too loudly.  McCoy thought he tried to talk over the sound of the girls trampling down the stairs, and couldn’t have done a worse job at making it more obvious.  “You’ve finally arrived.”

Marcus glanced at his daughters.  They had taken long enough to get out here.  He didn’t know if he would have been able to delay the prince’s departure for much longer, which would have left him without the knowledge that he had a beautiful, fertile, and perfect daughter who was currently unattached to anyone and thus available for the prince’s taking.  And Janice indeed looked gorgeous and serene!  Her dress was tasteful, yet low-cut enough to give a clear idea of her full and pushed-up breasts, her slim waistline, and her ideal child-bearing hips.  It revealed precisely what it needed to on an eligible lady.  Carol had obviously done her part and helped her sister get dressed and ready to appear before the prince.  His younger daughter still wore the plain and simple dress that she’d worn while they’d been on their excursion earlier.  It hid her figure enough except to make it obvious that she was a woman.  There was dust on the hem from their walking about the market, and – ever shy – she’d stubbornly kept her breasts concealed.  As long as she never dared to upstage Janice, the Viscount didn’t care.  Carol wasn’t likely to attract a decent match anyway. 

He watched as they both murmured, “Your Highness,” and followed it with a curtsy, Janice bending a little forward to better showcase her breasts, yet doing so with fluid grace.  Carol, on the other hand, nearly lost her balance. 

McCoy looked toward Jim uncomfortably.  He hoped he was not the only one who felt the overwhelming and sudden urge to leave this place as soon as humanly possible.  To his relief, Jim looked a little uneasy on his horse.  But, thanks to his many years of training to endure things he disliked, Jim hid it much better.  McCoy had seen enough lords and ladies shove their available children at the prince over the years.  He knew that Jim always found it awkward to endure, but he tried to deal with it as politely as possible.  Perhaps this arranged marriage was not such a terrible idea after all.  It would discourage all of this...promotion towards Jim, the strange sacrifice of a child for an improved social standing maneuver.  He always counted himself lucky he hadn’t been born royal.  No one ever tried to throw their daughters – or even their sons – at him in the hopes that he would marry them. 

“Your Highness,” the Viscount announced grandly, gesturing to his daughters, “may I present Lady Janice Lestra Patricia of the House of Marcus…and Carol.”  Janice stared sultrily at Jim, while Carol mustered up a sweet smile, though it looked pained more than pleased to McCoy.  _Poor girl_ , he thought.  _Her own father didn’t even introduce her properly.  Was something wrong with her?_

“Ladies, your beauty is unrivaled,” Jim said as diplomatically as possible.  He really just wanted to leave.  He’d only come back here to return the horse, not to be propositioned by its owner. 

Marcus grew bold and approached the prince’s horse, lowering his voice so the remainder of the prince’s guards would not overhear him.  “We are all looking forward to celebrating the crowned prince’s engagement to his Vulcan lady.”

Jim sighed.  Right.  People didn’t know yet about his brother.  Now that he was returning home to get chained to his duty, he decided to face the reality of his situation.  They would know soon enough anyway.  “Yes, well, there have been some new circumstances regarding the Vulcan engagement.”  He stopped as he saw the Viscount’s daughters slowly come to join their father beside his horse.  He felt surrounded, and more uncomfortable than before.  He looked down to work out how he would maneuver his horse so that he could leave, but when he did all that he saw was Janice’s chest practically falling out of her dress. He knew the kind of expression he wore as he reeled back a little on his mount.  “Janice, that…”  _Don’t’ say anything about her breasts,_ he begged himself.  “…dress is stunning.”  He just barely managed to hold back a sigh of relief that he was able to say dress in that instant, but he still wondered what on Terra was he saying? 

She brought her hand just to the edge of her neckline, which only further emphasized her chest as she breathed with exaggerated flattery.  “You are too kind, Your Highness.”

Jim, determined to look anywhere else but in the girls’ direction, stared at his horse’s mane.  Because of this, he completely missed Carol adjusting her own dress’s neckline to futilely reveal a portion of her own breasts, shifting her posture to press her upper body forward in an attempt to draw attention to it.  After only a moment of no reaction from the prince, she sighed silently to herself and gave up, righting her clothing in the manner that she clearly preferred.  McCoy, however, saw the whole thing from start to finish.  He desperately tried to contain his amusement at the girl’s action, but at the same time feeling sympathy for her.  Clearly Janice was the daughter the Viscount concerned himself with – even if their manner of dress was the only thing McCoy based that judgment.  The second was how he’d introduced Carol, no title, no other names, nothing but her first name.  He watched as Carol’s expression was transformed by sadness or hopelessness.  She glanced at Janice, but there was no jealousy there in her gaze.  Lastly, she dropped her eyes to the ground. 

“These circumstances are for the better, I’m sure,” the Viscount assured the prince.

“I hope so.”  Strangely enough, he did.  Jim suddenly realized that the conversation had come to an end and now would be the perfect time to escape.  He leapt on the opportunity.  “Good day, ladies, Viscount,” he farewelled them.  Janice continued to gaze seductively at Jim.  Carol’s eyes rose and she presented him with a saddened half-smile as she shyly waved goodbye.  Jim turned his horse and began back toward his waiting party.  McCoy followed, but before he trotted after Jim he made sure to meet Carol’s eyes and nod farewell to her.  When she realized that he’d only paid her that attention, Carol’s stunned blue eyes shined. 

McCoy rode to join Jim with a smile on his face.  Carol was pretty, modest, and seemed a sweet young lady.  In his opinion, someone with those descriptors should not be so sad. 


	4. A Royal Ultimatum

He’d tried to impress on Natasha that time was of the essence today, that his silly hair did not matter as much as arriving in time to stop it.  She had continued to arrange his hair in the noble knots that his father had favored during his life.  And because of that Spock was late.  He knew he was late to arrive at the palace, even while bringing his horse to a full gallop, with the second horse he brought with him obediently trailing while attached to his own mount.  He hoped that on the return to the manor she would bear a rider.  But now that he might be too late, he did not know if that hope was in vain. 

Spock ran up the walkway that led to the gates of the Royal Palace.  He’d always imagined that when he made his first journey – if he ever had reason to go – to the palace, it would be for a grand occasion.  Perhaps a royal wedding or a celebration of scientific achievement.  He never thought that the first time he would walk through the gates would be as he pretended to be a Vulcan lord on a mission to free a servant.  And he had always imagined himself walking, certainly not running.  Determined to have one of his criteria a reality, Spock slowed his pace to a walk.

He passed through the gates, past the attending guards, with a sense of profound relief.  Step one had been completed.  He had entered the Royal Grounds…and he had no idea what to do from there.  He looked around at all of the noble lords and ladies, so many of them of different races.  The majority were the blue-skinned Andorians, the wide-eyed Betazoids, the silken-furred Caitians, the elegant and stoic Vulcans, the fierce Klingons, and the emotionally-open Humans.  Spock made mental notes to avoid the Betazoids – he did not want his identity and thoughts discovered – and the Vulcans – so that he would not be so clearly different from them – and the Klingons – especially one particular governor and his attendants who would easily recognize him.  Had he been a true Vulcan lord he would have been able to walk up to any of these individuals and ask where he should go.  But he could not, he dared not.  He was on his own, and only hoped that he was not too late and that the entire risk would be worthwhile.

Spock wandered the open grounds, listening carefully to the conversations he passed, listening to the noises of the environment, hoping to hear anything that could lead him to Christopher Pike.  Against any odds he had expected, Spock heard his familiar voice.  He ran towards it, carefully avoiding collision with others while doing so, until he caught sight of him.  “I have credits,” Pike called to the burly jailor who was bodily escorting him down a pathway and towards a waiting cage that made up the back of a hover-vehicle.  “Please, let me summon my master to bring them,” he tried as he awkwardly climbed the three steps into the prison-like cage where three other sold servants or criminals were waiting.

“That time’s come and gone, wretch,” the jailor barked unsympathetically, as he planted his beefy hand on Pike’s back and shoved him forward.  Pike cried out in pain as he fell.  Spock wondered where his cane had gone, then he realized that this jailor must have confiscated it.  He shook with anger on the man’s behalf.  Pike needed that cane.  How dare they deny it to him!  Then, Spock understood that in such closed confines of a mobile prison cage, an object like a cane could be considered a weapon for one of the other imprisoned people to use on his or her transport companions.  While he saw the logic in denying the cane, he could not accept it. 

Spock ran again to intercept and hopefully stop the hovercar’s progress away from the palace grounds.  “Stop!” he cried.  The burly driver did not halt the vehicle.  Spock knew that as soon as he had opened his mouth he had drawn the attention of several nobles remotely near him.  He doubted there were many Vulcans that shouted in public.  It could not be helped now.  He was too close to give up on Pike’s freedom.  He would not let him disappear from the manor as so many others had before him.  Spock caught up to the hovercar and stood in its path.  “Stop this vehicle immediately!”  It continued towards him.  “Kroykah!” he cried.  The vehicle finally stopped and it was dangerously close to his body.  He found it strange that it took a Vulcan word to stop the hovercar’s progress.  It was a word he’d only read in his mother’s book – from a passage about a contested bonding ceremony – but had never used or heard aloud.  “I demand that you release this man,” he said in a remarkably steady voice to the jailor.  He only now noticed that the man had facial hair and a gigantic and muscular build.  This human could easily kill him in a physical fight.  Spock pointed to Pike’s crumbled figure in the cage.  “As my servant, all of his debts are my responsibility.  I have brought the funds to ensure his release.”  Pike stared at him with wide eyes as he hauled himself to his feet by grasping each row of bars level by level. 

The large man sighed in frustration and obvious impatience.  “He’s sold already, little lord, to QumwI’ Veqlargh Hegh.  You’ve come too late, Vulcan.”  He restarted the hovercar. 

It was as Spock had feared.  He met Pike’s despairing gaze and hardened his resolve.  “How much was his price?” he shouted over the loud engine. 

“Five hundred.”

At least it was a price he could outmatch.  Spock planted his feet.  “I have two thousand credits.  That not only pays his debt, but also the fee QumwI’ Hegh paid for his acquisition three times over!  I demand that you release him to me!”

The hovercar stopped again.  Anger joined the man’s frustration with him.  “It’s not up to me.”

The words left his mouth before he could think about their ramifications. “Then shall we speak to his Majesty on the matter?”

The angry man leaned forward in his driver’s seat.  “Who do you think sold your servant off?  Me?  It was the King!”

At least he would not have to lie to the King’s face about being a lord this way at least.  But he still had to persuade this difficult man to cooperate.  “I will not leave or cease my demands until this man is returned to my custody.”

He had seemingly run out of the little patience he had left.  “Then you’ll be a run over Vulcan!”

“Did you dare just threaten a Vulcan lord in my presence?”  Spock knew that voice – he’d heard it only hours ago.  He did not even hear the jailor attempt to come up with an excuse for his loss of temper.  All Spock could silently and desperately plead in his head was that the prince would not recognize him.  He doubted that he would.  He had only seen him for a second before Spock had fallen to the ground in the low subservient bow of the lower class of citizens.  He had not afterward dared to look up at the prince.  Spock turned now, however, looked at him in the eyes for only a moment, then dropped his gaze as he delivered a bow that he’d seen his stepfather perform many times to other lords and ladies of higher status than himself.  The prince swept him with his eyes from his head to his feet.  Surely such a man would have noticed his worn boots had Spock not insisted on an overcoat that, when clasped shut, would conceal most of his footwear.  The prince then turned his attention to the still stuttering jailor. 

“—worthless creatures and thieves to their new masters or their fates.”

Spock knew he could not achieve Pike’s release from this stubborn jailor.  But perhaps he could appeal to the prince instead.  He did not know if he could be so lucky to receive the man’s mercy twice in one day, but he had to try.  For Christopher, for his wife, and for their son.  “My servant is not worthless to me, and he is certainly not a thief as he has never taken from me what I did not freely allow him.  On the contrary he is valued by me.  I have only recognized this when it was nearly too late and have come to reclaim him, despite his limiting condition since an injury.  If anyone should be considered a thief, it is not my servant, or myself, but those above my status.”

Jim exchanged a glance with McCoy, who had brought his horse up alongside his prince.  His Highness had seen an odd sort of crowd forming and leisurely gone to investigate.  When the shouting became evident, Jim brought his horse to a gallop, arriving just in time to hear his sweets-loving jailor threaten to run over a Vulcan lord with his hovercar.  McCoy had spurred his own mount into a full gallop as soon as Jim did.  He arrived at his side just as a young Vulcan male turned to gaze up at Jim with nervous yet determined eyes.  As Jim turned to look at him, even briefly, McCoy could tell that his prince was both awed and amused by the Vulcan’s nerve in addressing him.  “Careful, my lord.  I do believe you just called the Royal Family thieves.”

The Vulcan did not even flinch.  “As you insist, Your Highness.”

Jim’s eyes widened.  “Oh, I don’t insist, but I will admit my curiosity in how you came to that conclusion.”  He tilted his head, studying this fascinating Vulcan who stood boldly before him.  “So, my lord, please, enlighten me.”

Spock nodded once, sharply, at the prince’s command.  “The King demands that all of his noble families and estates produce goods or crops in order to sustain both the realm and that lord’s estate, yet he continually raises trade, selling, and property taxes.  This causes an increase in pressure on his subjects for productivity in their goods or crops, which in turn means an additional demand for generated revenue.  In some circumstances, it leaves his subjects with only two options: to sell their material property to maintain their staff and product yields but it reduces their standard of living to that of indigence while barely keeping their dignity and social status, or – in the second instance – to dismiss, or otherwise sell, their servants and staff as needed, one by one, thus destroying families, reducing their productivity due to the less available assistance in the estate, yet still allowing retention of  material possessions but continuing to decline in wealth, income, and status to the same result as the previous scenario.  In either case, ultimately, the King is stealing from his subjects – whether by their possessions, their servants, or their estates.  I have chosen to reclaim a life that was erroneously cast aside in favor of an object.  I have chosen to value a man’s life over material considerations.  Please do not force me to lose both my estate’s maintainers and my ability to properly continue to provide for his Majesty as he, by law, requires of me.  Please return this man to me, Your Highness.”

Spock could not tell what the prince thought of his reasoning.  In one respect, he did not wish to know.  But he could not unsay the words now.  The prince had heard them, his guardsmen had heard them, and the crowd of nobility around them had heard them.  Spock had intended to achieve Pike’s freedom with as little notice as possible.  It seemed the exact opposite had occurred. 

Montgomery Scott had finally reached the crowd sometime during the young Vulcan’s petition to Prince James.  He stared at him, wondering where the Vulcan had gotten such outspoken nerve.  Any Vulcans he had ever come across were much more reserved in their speech, much quieter.  This Vulcan spoke with clear emotion and passion.  He found him unique.  One look at the mounted prince and Montgomery Scott knew that the prince came to a similar conclusion, despite what the Vulcan had just said to him. 

A hesitant tug on the hem of his shirt brought his attention to his very short assistant, Keenser.  “What?” he whispered.  His silent companion pointed first to his own booted feet, then pointed at the Vulcan.  Scott looked at the Vulcan’s boots, and then saw what Keenser noticed.  They were definitely not the high-quality boots of a Vulcan – or any other race – lord.  He realized what exactly must be occurring from the Vulcan’s perspective.  “Not a word, laddie,” he ordered Keenser.  His silent friend nodded in agreement.  They would not be the ones responsible for the Vulcan’s deceit being discovered, especially not when he carried himself so well. 

“Who purchased this Vulcan’s servant, Cupcake?” the prince asked the jailor.

“QumwI’ Hegh, Sire.”

Jim sighed at the name.  “Release him,” he said.  He’d speak to Hegh later in the matter, deciding in that moment to compensate him for his loss.  He would be difficult to settle and calm, but he was certain he could smooth it over with Hegh with time, patience, and a good deal of credits.  Cupcake hadn’t moved and stared at him like he’d spoken a language the jailor didn’t understand.  “Your Prince has just commanded you to release that man.”  Cupcake moved like he’d been electrically prodded.  He watched as the Vulcan went to help his servant from the cage.  He must care a great deal for the injured human.  He’d never seen an openly compassionate Vulcan before. 

Pike allowed Spock to steady him.  A moment ago he was bound for Kronos.  Now, thanks to this wonderful child, he would return home.  He would return to Number One, his Natasha, and their boy.  “I thought,” he choked on his own relief.  “I swore you were your father.”

Spock nodded to him, not trusting himself to speak.  At least he now knew that there was something in him of his father.  For so long he had never known.  But as Pike had been momentarily fooled by his performance, Spock understood the sort of person his father had been.  And he must have been a proud, almost regal, and noble Vulcan.  “Our horses are beneath the walkway from the gate.  I will meet you there.  Do you need assistance walking?”

Pike, still overwhelmed in emotion and relief, almost laughed.  “If you asked me to, I’d run from this place.”

“There is no need for that, Chris.”

Spock drew away from him, and watched for a moment as Pike walked toward the gates, still saddened by his limping.  He wished he had a cane for him.  But at least he’d brought a horse for him.  Even if he had only brought one, he would have insisted on Pike riding home, regardless of how it may have looked with a Vulcan noble walking while his servant rode. 

Spock turned and walked back in front of the hovercar, looking up to the prince and bowing gracefully.  “You have my gratitude, Your Highness.”

While Jim had been anxious to end the conversation with Viscount Marcus earlier today, he wanted this intriguing Vulcan to continue speaking to him.  McCoy recognized Jim’s sparked interest, but doubted he would do anything about it…until after the prince had practically leaped off his horse to follow the Vulcan’s departure.  He sighed in frustration.  He could keep the prince from running away from his responsibilities, but it seemed he couldn’t stop Jim from making a fool of himself.  He dismounted, much slower than the prince, handed the reins of both of their mounts off to one of his guardsmen, and then slowly followed Jim, keeping a discreet distance from him.  He would – if questioned – claim he followed for the prince’s protection, but he admitted to himself that he was curious as to what so interested Jim in this Vulcan.

“Have we met?” Jim asked loudly, hoping his voice would stop the Vulcan’s stride.  It did not. 

Spock, at the sound of the prince’s voice, became all too aware of the bag of credits in his hand.  The bag of credits that this very same prince had tossed at his prostrated form this morning.  He hurriedly shoved the bag into a pocket in the long overcoat.  What if the prince had seen it?  What if the prince had recognized it?  Was this why he had posed that question: Have we met?    Technically, they have met.  But the prince had met Spock, the servant, not the Vulcan lord currently walking away from him.  The distinction allowed Spock to interpret the prince’s words as he chose.  His error did not constitute a lie on his part.  “We have not, Your Highness.”

“Did you come with the Vulcan delegation?”  The prince asked, his hurried pace nearly catching up to Spock’s unbroken strides.  “I thought I’d been introduced to all of them.”

“I did not,” Spock replied, refusing even to look at the prince.  He kept his eyes on the gates and kept walking.  “I have…only just recently arrived here, Your Highness.”

Jim laughed.  “Surely not just to cause a scene over a servant.”

Spock tried not to be offended.  “Of course not,” he said, nearly losing the calmness in his voice.  “I have come on the invitation of an acquaintance.”

Jim could barely contain his excitement.  If he knew who the Vulcan mentioned, it would make seeking him easier.  “Who?”

Spock increased his pace.  He did not like where this conversation was heading.  “My family’s acquaintance.”

Jim smiled to himself at the Vulcan’s reply.  ‘Ah, yes,’ he thought, ‘Vulcans are usually literal.’  “You mentioned the acquaintance part, but I’m looking for a specific on that topic.”

The prince’s line of questioning approached dangerous.  Spock thought quickly and frantically for anything to tell him than the strict truth.  “It is the only family acquaintance with whom I also maintain association.”  He did not fail to hear two people fail to stifle their laughter quickly enough.  He looked behind him as he continued to walk, seeing one of the prince’s guards, a gruff-looking man, and a shorter disheveled man of approximately the same age.  He did not think his omission of certain truths something to be amused by.  It only made him want to leave faster. 

Jim stopped walking for a moment at the Vulcan’s response, distantly aware that his mouth had fallen open in shock and amused offense.  Was he serious?  Then, he heard McCoy and Scott laughing behind them.  He shot a glare at them.  This was now a matter of pride and principle!  He jogged after the Vulcan, who had never once broken his stride during their entire conversation.  “Are you evading my questions to play with me, my lord, or do you want me to beg you for your name?”

“Yes,” Spock answered immediately.  He realized immediately afterwards how the prince could interpret that.  He meant yes to part of the first half of the question.  “And no,” he amended, hoping the prince would understand that his additional answer was meant for the second half of his question.  He had no desire to tell the prince his name. 

Jim would not accept that kind of answer.  The Vulcan had almost reached the gates.  He could not let him escape without knowing who he was.  “Then, keep that secret, but at least give me the name of your friend so that I can learn your name from them if not you.”  He cut in front of the Vulcan and matched his pace by walking backwards, facing off against him in a verbal fencing match.  “But you have to understand that I will have it one way or another.”

Spock stopped walking for the first time since he broke through the gathered crowd.  Jim considered this a victory and could not prevent himself from smiling.  “You can’t honestly mean to accuse the king’s laws of being completely illogical, in such a fine example of Vulcan oratory, and then walk away and deny me my right to know the identity of my father’s accuser.”

Spock sighed and stepped around the prince.  “Indeed I do, Your Highness.”

Jim, for the second time because of this Vulcan, let his jaw fall in shock.  He couldn’t let him leave, not without even a hint.  His was the most mentally stimulating verbal sparring in what seemed like ages.  Jim whirled and ran in front of him again, blocking the Vulcan’s escape once more.  “I beg you.  There, are you pleased, now?  I beg you for a name.”  That was incredibly vague.  He needed to fix that.  “I’d prefer yours, but I’ll settle for your friend’s, if you are determined on secrecy.”

This prince was insatiable.  Spock knew in that moment that he would not be leaving this man’s presence, or rather this man would not leave his, until he gave him what he wanted.  He thought for a name that could not lead the prince to his true identity or, especially, to the Viscount.  “Then be satisfied with S’haile…”  He blurted out the first name that came to mind.  “Sybok, son of…Skon.”  What had possessed him to give the prince that name?  Spock nodded to himself, repeating this false name to himself just in case the prince ever saw him again and addressed him by it.  He would look foolish indeed if he did not react to his own name. 

Jim felt his expression brighten and his mood lighten.  “So a little begging is all it takes to break through that Vulcan stubbornness?”  He smiled at Sybok warmly. 

Spock thought the prince looked far too pleased with himself.  He opened his mouth to return the prince’s teasing when a woman’s voice rang out to his right.  “James, my darling.  I see that Captain McCoy has convinced you to come home.”  Spock glanced to the right and froze when he saw the Queen.  It had been difficult to conceal the truth from the prince.  But if he were forced to lie to the Queen…Spock knew such action was considered one of the highest crimes.  He had to leave immediately.  He’d only just freed Pike, he would not put anyone at risk by being taken into royal custody. 

“Good afternoon, Mother.”

“Now that you’ve enjoyed your little adventure—”

Spock, as soon as the prince gave his attention to the Queen, turned away from him and hurried through the gates.  He hoped that Christopher had managed to prepare their horses for a quick departure.  He had no intention of being near the palace a moment longer. 

“—The King demands your presence.  He has a great deal to say to you.” 

Jim did not fail to notice that she did not call him his father, but chose to refer to him as the king.  His father was therefore in a mood and determined to scream until his demands were met.  It had long been a code between Jim, his brother, and their mother when it came to the king.  It warned the boys of the sort of confrontation they were about to encounter. 

“That’s not exactly unusual.  I’ll see to him momentarily.”  He wanted to say goodbye to Sybok.  However, when he turned back to where the Vulcan had stood, he found that Sybok had vanished from the grounds.  He looked through the gates and did not even see him there. 

“I can honestly say, Jim, that I never saw a Vulcan noble run away from anything like he ran from you.”  McCoy had come to stand at his side, as he so often placed himself.  Right now, though, Jim didn’t want to endure his friend’s teasing. 

“Sure he had a good reason,” Montgomery Scott added from McCoy’s other side. 

Jim continued to look through the metal, guarded gates.  Why had Sybok run? 

McCoy slapped a supportive hand on his shoulder.  “Looks like you can’t charm ‘em all, Jim.”

He shrugged McCoy’s hand from his shoulder, then walked off toward his mother, determined to get this discussion with his father over with as soon as possible.  He knew the two men were following him without looking. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

She’d decided to fill her time with weeding certain areas of the garden while Spock had left on his self-appointed mission.  Natasha was so nervous that she felt taking out her anxiety on greens that were not supposed to be there in the dirt next to the plants they could actually eat.  She grabbed the leaves as close to the dirt as she could and then yanked them out hard.  Soon enough, when the hours began to pass and it came time to harvest some of the edible vegetables since there were no more weeds left to pull, Natasha began to release her fear, her sadness, and her denial of the inevitable.  As she pulled up the lettuce greens from the earth, Natasha began to silently cry. 

Spock should have returned by now.  He should have returned with Christopher at his side.  Yet neither had come back.  That could only mean one thing.  Spock had been discovered.  His deception had been found out.  He was likely hauled off to a cell to await execution, and her husband…he was most likely en route to Kronos.  She was most likely next.  And it terrified her.  Losing her husband, her loving husband, their son’s father, along with Spock in one blow could not be described as anything other than devastating. 

Pavel watched his mother weep in the dirt as she pulled the lettuce and shakily put them in the basket close to her knees.  He’d been sad when they came for his father.  He knew he’d done nothing wrong.  But he knew his father would be like Tyler Barnett – who’d been taken by the royal guards – and would never return.  He’d seen Tyler taken off two years ago.  His parents had managed to keep him from witnessing other servants before him leave, but they had been doing their duties elsewhere when they came for Tyler.  He hadn’t understood at the time why Viscount Marcus had done nothing but watch as Tyler was taken away.  But as the process repeated and his father was forced from the house, the Viscount had simply stood watching them drag his father out.  After Pavel saw them lock his father up in some caged back of a hovercar he looked to the Viscount, who’d smiled to himself and then walked back into the house where he went to wait for his breakfast in the dining room.  He’d never liked the Viscount since he could remember, but after that moment, Pavel decided he hated him. 

He was outside beating the carpets.  Like his mother, Pavel needed something on which he could take his anger, his hatred, his sadness.  He pretended the carpet was the Viscount’s smug face, and then he swung, watching as the dust and dirt flew from the carpet, imagining it was the smile being pounded off the Viscount’s face. 

He heard his mother sob in an area of the garden.  His mother never sobbed.  He gave one last whack to the carpet before he went to lean over the stone rail that overlooked this area of the garden.  But his mother had left.  Her basket was still where she’d put it near the lettuce.  Then, Pavel noticed that she was running off down the narrow lane that eventually led to the orchard.  When he saw to what she ran, Pavel dropped his mallet and followed her.

Natasha had yanked up a particularly stubborn plant that knocked her back to sit on the dirt.  She went to reposition herself to remove more of the plants, but movement caught her eyes.  She wiped away her nearly constant tears with her dirty sleeve.  When she understood that what she saw could not possibly be from her imagination, her grief turned into joy in the span of a single, draining sob.  With more energy than she’d thought herself capable, Natasha got to her feet and ran, still sobbing.

Spock watched as Natasha realized he had succeeded, and that Christopher walked at his side.  He’d found a sturdy branch for him to use as a temporary cane, knowing that the one the guards had confiscated was certainly lost forever.  It did not matter.  A cane did not matter compared to Christopher’s life.  A crude stick would do.  Natasha began to run towards them, her dirt-smudged face streaked by her tears, but her laughter struggling with her sobs.  As soon as Christopher saw her, his face lit up and his eyes filled with tears.  He could never run again, but he could hurry – and he did. 

When husband and wife finally met, their hands explored each other’s features like newlyweds – memorizing each contour of the other’s face, the feel of their hair, the calluses on their hands, and the taste of their lips. 

Spock distracted himself by fiddling with the flowers in his hands.  They’d met Sulu in the stables, where he’d immediately ushered Spock into a stall so that he could change his clothing.  If the Viscount saw Spock wearing his clothes, they all knew the entire day would have been for nothing.  Sulu brought a bag to put them in, reminding him to clean the Viscount’s clothes.  “The way that man’s like a bird of prey, he’d know someone did something to them.  Make them pristine again.”  Spock had already thought of this, but he knew Sulu cared for him and didn’t want anything to happen to him.  Sulu had helped Spock into the role of a lord, and he was there again to bring him home again as the servant.  Sulu had kept his word and arranged two large bouquets that he could use for Janice’s rooms as he’d told the Viscount.  He knew he was late returning, but he would endure it.  Any punishment the Viscount would give for his tardiness would be more than worth it to be able to witness the uncontrollable joy of Christopher and Natasha’s reunion.  When he looked back to them, he saw that Pavel had joined them, plastering himself to his father’s side.  Spock watched the reunited family contently.  He had done this.  He had prevented this happiness from being torn asunder. 

Natasha ran to Spock and cupped his cheek in her hands.  “Thank you,” she sobbed the words. 

Spock covered her hand with one of his own.  “You are my family,” he said, as though those four simple words explained all of his actions. 

She understood enough it seemed, and she brought him over to her husband and son, where all of them embraced and held each other, relieved and happy to be together. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Jim wanted to get this discussion with his father over with as soon as possible, so he didn’t even really wait for his mother, her attendants, or anyone else really, to lead or otherwise escort him to where the king awaited his presence to probably yell at him for his flight from home.  By the grumbling behind him, he knew that Bones accompanied the little group.  The Captain of the Guard got along exceedingly well with the queen – to a point that concerned Jim.  He could never do much of anything without his mother knowing about it, and he knew it was because she’d always ask Bones, and he would always tell her.  If Jim asked, McCoy would hide certain details but he would be as truthful to the queen as possible – lying to either the King or Queen formed grounds for serious criminal charges, after all. 

As soon as the prince entered the room in which King George awaited him, of all unimaginative places the throne room, he spoke, the sentence immediately telling Jim what kind of conversation this was intended to be.  “For your little stunt, you are restricted to the Royal Grounds.”

Having just had a Vulcan publicly announce his reasoning as to why the king’s laws were flawed, Jim was prepared to deal with anything his father could have said to him that on a normal day would have angered him.  But today was far from a normal day in his life.  He’d snuck out of his tower window, stolen a horse, been attacked by a servant for it, tracked down a gypsy thief, had an eligible girl practically thrown at him by her father and of her own will, and lastly met the most intriguing Vulcan he’d ever met.  Not that he had much experience with Vulcans, but all of the ones that he had met had been dry, stoic, flat, but unerringly polite.  S’haile Sybok, though, had been passionate.  He had never encountered a passionate Vulcan before and it was a pleasant change from the ones that he had met.  He smiled as he replied to his father, “You must be joking; you’re ordering me on house arrest?”

George raised his eyes to meet his son’s, expecting to find them fiery in anger but found them instead to be shining in mirth.  For some reason, James’s amusement only angered him more than if the boy had shouted back at him.  “When it comes to your discipline, I do not joke.  And as only one of two people in this universe that is still able to order you about, I can and I am restricting your movements.  I didn’t with your brother, but so far, I still can with you.”  He hurriedly poured himself a glass of wine, and took a long drink from it.

Jim felt the itch of a smile, but knew it would only incense his father if he were to laugh in his face.  Instead, he chose to harden his voice.  “What makes you think I’ll obey?  It didn’t stop Sam.”

George slammed the goblet onto the table and glared at his younger son.  Up until now, James had always been the obedient son, the respectful one, the happier child.  That all changed only last night with the letters from the king’s eldest son.  He had thought that coming into his responsibility would temper Samuel, and eventually settle him into being a dutiful young man, and so he had not often disciplined the boy, had not restricted him freedoms, had not curbed enthusiasm for other interests.  It had been a mistake, one that he would not repeat with his second son.  He only regretted that James had to pay for Samuel’s disobedience and impulsive choices.  “Perhaps you should turn your anger to the one deserving of it, James!  It is because of your brother that we are all in this situation, you know.  So, if you can manage to reach him, perhaps you should thank Samuel for leaving your mother and me to fix the chaos he’s left behind.  Thank him for leaving you to finish carrying out the promises he made and for forcing the duties that would have belonged to him onto you!”

Jim felt his anger beginning to leave.  He was the second born.  None of this was supposed to be his responsibility. 

“So you will listen to what I need you to do in order to fix this mess your brother left us.  You will obey me, or—”

“Or what?” Jim shouted over his father.  “You’ll sell me like a valuable commodity to the highest bidder?  Just to keep peace with your strongest ally?”  He did not want to hear any more of the king’s raging.  He turned to go, but with seven words his father stopped him.

“You are the Crown Prince of Terra!”

Jim didn’t turn to the king, but looked to his mother instead.  “What?”

Winona’s face crumbled from the jubilant mask she’d worn in public and all the way into this room at her son’s stunned, uncomprehending question.  “There’s been word.”  She went to the large table where the king had been hunched over various documents and padd readouts.  She picked up a single folded sheet.

Jim followed her to the table, needing to know something very important.  “Is Sam okay?”  If what the king had said was true, that he was now the heir of Terra, then there were only two explanations.  He held his breath that it was not the worst. 

Winona handed Jim the paper.  He snatched it from her and feverishly unfolded it, reading the handwritten words quickly.  “Your brother has married some woman named—”

Jim didn’t care about that.  He searched for one particular phrase, and found it almost immediately.  “And then he abdicated.” 

Before Jim could fully understand what that meant for him, the king continued speaking.  “Terra is now your life, James.  You will take your brother’s place in this contract with Vulcan and wed T’Sai T’Pring for everyone’s sake.” 

‘What you love is your life,’ Montgomery Scott had said earlier today.  Jim crumbled Sam’s letter and threw it to the floor.  “I’ve never even met her!  I didn’t even know her name until right now!”  He certainly didn’t love her, this unknown Vulcan woman.  How could he devote his life to someone and something that he didn’t even know? 

“I’m afraid, sweetheart, that this is one of only many burdens of Royalty,” Winona said, trying to soothe her son. 

He shook his head, denying his mother’s empty words.  “To marry a complete stranger?”  He scoffed.  “Correct me if I’m wrong, Mother, but how content did that make you?”  At his words, Winona looked stricken. 

“Happiness and love is not something that matters to Vulcans,” the king took over the conversation in the brief silence.  “If it did they wouldn’t blindly seek a marriage contract with anyone.  What they want is stability and security.  They reached out to us as their closest ally, and we accepted them.”

Jim didn’t exactly sulk.  “It matters to me.”

George rose and went right up to his son.  “What would you have me do, James?  Live forever to spare you from going through with an arranged marriage?”

Jim shouted back into his father’s face.  “To spare me from a loveless one, yes!  I don’t want the crown!  And I don’t want to marry some random Vulcan girl who’s probably being forced into this as much as I am!”  Frustrated and angry he whirled to leave, this time determined to succeed in walking through those doors.  He stopped, however, not as his father roared his name, but when he had one more thing to say to his father.  “Sam was the smart one!  At least he can be happy with someone he loves.”  With that, Jim left the throne room. 

Winona looked to Captain McCoy.  “Please, can you—”

McCoy nodded as he replied, “I’ll speak with him, Majesty.”  He bowed quickly and then pursued his prince, his charge, and his friend.

Winona watched him leave, wishing that the conversation had gone differently.  She watched as George bent to pick up the letter that Jim had discarded.  He stormed to one of the fireplaces then hurled the letter of abdication into the flames, standing there to watch it burn.  As she looked at him, and heard her son’s voice asking that hurtful question, she thought back on her life.  Since she had been a child, Winona had been told how wonderful her wedding would be one day, how glorious, and how happy she would be as a bride.  But what she’d been told had not come true for her.  All she could recall was the terror, the reluctance, and her tears.  She turned away from George and poured herself a very full glass of wine.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

When Spock entered Janice’s rooms he was greeted with a sharp statement.  “You’re supposed to knock and ask permission to enter a lady’s room, but I suppose you were never taught things like manners, were you?” 

“May I enter, my lady?” he asked to appease her.

“Why?” she snapped impatiently.

Spock raised the vase of flowers he had intended to place in her rooms, his excuse for his absence from the house.  “I have brought you a floral assortment.  Do you not prefer them?”

Finally, she turned to him, but not to look at him.  She looked at the flowers.  “Put them here on the vanity,” she ordered.  She was seated before her mirror, slowly brushing her fire-red hair.  Spock did as she commanded, knowing that she preferred them in the upper left corner, not blocking the mirror, nor in the way of her perfumes and blushes and colorings.  He adjusted the flowers so that they would be displayed most pleasingly from her perspective.

“If that is all, my lady,” he began, but was interrupted by Janice.

“My father wants to speak to you, half-breed.” 

Spock didn’t freeze from the insulting term, but from what her statement might imply.  The Viscount knew.  Somehow he must know that Spock had stolen his clothing, worn them, went to the palace, and brought Christopher Pike home.  “May I ask where—”

“Right here, you stupid Vulcan.”  Spock turned quickly to look right at the Viscount’s approaching figure.  Before he could even speak, the Viscount’s hand shot upward and backhanded him across the face, knocking him to his right and into the vanity where Janice sat.  As he hit the wall, Spock heard the vase shatter on the floor.  The flowers had fallen when he’d been propelled back into the vanity. 

“My flowers!” wailed Janice.  “You’ve ruined them!”  Spock knew she would never dare say this to her father, so it only followed that she’d meant it for him. 

“How dare you do this to us!” the Viscount shouted at him. 

“What have I done?” Spock asked.  He had only brought Janice flowers.  Unless the Viscount knew of his journey to the palace on his own, Spock would never volunteer that information. 

“What have you done?” mocked Janice, pushing him.  Spock tilted off-balance and fell to the floor amongst the broken vase and the now ruined flowers.  He looked up and saw Carol standing in the doorway, a concerned look on her face.  “As if you don’t know, you stupid thing!”

The Viscount waved Janice off, silencing her with only a gesture.  “You lied to me – to Janice – deceived us this morning.  And I refuse to tolerate such insolence from you!  Now tell me the truth!”  By the time he had finished, the Viscount was shouting loudly. 

Spock was terrified of revealing anything he should not.  The credits that the prince had thrown to him were to ensure that he would remain silent.  He had honored the prince’s demand, and not mentioned the incident to the Viscount during breakfast.  A prince’s command was more important than a Viscount’s in every respect.  But he was the Viscount’s stepson, the man was his guardian.  He did not know what to do or what he should say.  “Did you forget?” whimpered Janice, mocking his silence, and mistaking it for fear.  He was not afraid of her or the Viscount.  He was afraid of what withholding the truth would mean for his real family – for Christopher, Natasha, and Pavel.  He’d freed Pike once, but he knew he would never be able to do so again.  “Think hard, stupid Vulcan!” she screamed at him. 

The Viscount stood over him, formidable and intimidating, but it was not he to whom Spock looked.  Spock looked to the doorway again, seeing that Natasha and Pike had arrived at the sounds of the shrieking and looking worriedly over Carol’s shoulder.  They did not move.  Carol swallowed nervously, and then very slowly nodded her head to him.  Spock understood what Carol did not dare say aloud.  “Prince James took one of the horses today,” he confessed, obeying his stepfather over the command of silence from the prince.  Spock felt like he had betrayed his prince by telling his stepfather the truth.

The smile that spread across the Viscount’s face announced his dominating satisfaction.  “Which explains his surprise visit to my house, doesn’t it?  If you’d told the truth during breakfast, we would’ve been better prepared for the Prince’s arrival!”

“I—” 

“You’re very lucky that Janice always knows how to look and act her best.”  The Viscount’s smile became proud.  “She seems to have caught His Highness’s eye.”  A moment later, that pride vanished when he glared down at Spock.  “But he said something interesting about you.”  Spock snapped his gaze to the Viscount, alarmed.  The prince had told the Viscount of Spock’s assault on him.  The Viscount would sell him away like he had Pike for this.  “He said that you were fierce.  What did you do to him?”  Spock did not dare confess this.  He could not. 

“He probably tried to attack the prince, but failed to make a difference,” Janice speculated.  “He did take a horse, after all.”

“And he didn’t seem injured when we saw him,” agreed the Viscount.  He leveled his eyes on Spock again.  “I’m waiting.”

Spock refused to prove Janice’s idea correct.  He thought of the encounter again in his mind.  Then, he had something that he could tell him.  “I accused him of thievery and forbade him from taking one of our horses.  At the time, I did not know his identity.”

His answer from the Viscount and Janice came in the form of arrogant, disbelieving laughter.  Spock hung his head to hide his own relief.  The prince had not told them that Spock had attacked him.  Perhaps he had known that it would mean trouble for Spock and withheld that information.  Spock said a silent thanks to the prince, knowing it to be an illogical action, but not caring. 

“Well,” the Viscount said after he’d recovered from his laughter, “since I expect Prince James to return here to see Janice again, I want you to see that this house remains as clean as possible.  I will not have us looking like peasants when hosting a royal visitation.  Do you understand?”

Spock nodded.  “Yes, Viscount.”  He only wondered how he would ever explain to the prince that S’haile Sybok willingly dressed in poor clothing and worked diligently to clean this home and serve the Viscount and his daughters their meals. 

“Good.”  The Viscount turned to leave and caught sight of Christopher Pike.  He stopped in surprise.  He never thought he would see the man again.  “Pike, what are you doing here?”

Christopher straightened.  “A wealthy benefactor had arranged for my return home.  He covered…my debts and demanded only that I return to the manor to continue to serve my lord to the best of my ability.”  He figured that something close to the truth would be enough to convince Viscount Marcus. 

The two men looked at each other in the eyes, the Viscount searching for deceit and Pike confident that Marcus would not find it.  “Fine,” the Viscount decided.  “Welcome home, Pike.”

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

After hours of searching in the databases and even the printout documents on census records, Prince Jim decided to give up for now.  He could find no record of a S’haile Sybok…at least not on Terra.  He had two options open to him, and he preferred neither – go to the Vulcan delegation’s liaison and ask her to look into the matter, or seek assistance from his mother or the king.  He’d only met the Vulcan liaison when they’d arrived, but had been more than surprised to discover that she was human – a rather attractive and fierce human.  He’d made the mistake, apparently, of complimenting Miss Uhura on her beauty and had been rewarded with disdain ever since.  She’d even gone so far as to predict that he would be looking at others even after he’d been formally attached to T’Sai T’Pring, and nothing he could say could persuade her otherwise.  No, Jim excluded her as an option.  That only left his parents.  After the recent conversation – a kind word for it – with his father, Jim was reluctant to approach him on this matter.  That left only his mother. 

With a sigh, Jim went in search of her, aware of Captain McCoy shadowing him as soon as he left his rooms.  McCoy had been ordered to stand guard personally at the prince’s door by His Majesty, but he would never tell Jim that.  Instead, he’d told him that he wanted to stay nearby in case the prince wanted to get something off of his mind or maybe even needed a sparring partner at an odd hour of the night.  McCoy may not be as young as he’d used to be, but he could still more than hold his own in a fight. 

“No luck, huh, Jim?”

If there was one thing about his palace life for which the prince was grateful, it was his Captain of the Guard’s refusal to obey proper address when they were alone or out of earshot.  It made things feel a tiny bit closer to what normal probably felt like.  “No.  I swore I heard him right when he said his name, but—”  he stopped to release a frustrated sigh, “—I can’t find him, and I mean anything, on a S’haile Sybok.” 

“You only looked on Terran records,” McCoy stated. 

“Where else am I supposed to look?” Jim asked, his frustration beginning to come through in his voice.  “I don’t know what his home planet is—”

“I’m going to take a stab here and say it’s probably Vulcan.”

Jim stopped walking just so that he could half-heartedly glare at McCoy.  “Shut up, Bones.”  Then, they resumed walking. 

“Where are we headed, Jim?”

The reply was glum.  “To speak with my mother.  Know where she is at the moment?”

McCoy got out his communicator and asked his staff if they’d seen the queen.  Within seconds, McCoy steered Jim towards the Royal Gardens.  “Be aware, Jim, that since your little family chat, your mother’s been slowly nursing glass after glass of wine.” 

Jim nodded.  He hadn’t meant to hurt his mother by bringing up her own arranged marriage.  He’d only wanted to make a point that he remained steadfastly against one for himself.  It hadn’t done any good, it seemed, since his father stayed determined to wed him to this Vulcan girl. 

They found Her Majesty quickly enough, and she was still sipping from a glass.  Her attendant walked just behind her, the jug of wine ready to refill the queen’s glass.  Jim announced his presence with a soft, “Evening, Mother.”  She did not jump at his voice, did not seem startled.  Had she been expecting him? 

“Sweetheart,” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. 

“Mom, how long have you been at this?”

“Oh, since…your father demanded you marry a strange woman.”  Jim made to take the glass from her hands, but she twisted away from his reach.  “No, James.  I am the queen!  If I choose to have a drunken night, then I will, and no one will stop me.”

Jim shook his head, deciding to let her keep her wine, but he discreetly dismissed her attendant.  He would let her keep that glass, but he would not have her passing out in the middle of the gardens – not because he’d hurt her and driven her to try to make herself forget through wine.  “I came to ask you a question, and maybe for your help.”

That interested Winona.  “Really, James?” 

“I’m trying to find someone, and all I have is his name, but…I may have misheard it.” 

Winona resumed her walk through the garden.  Jim kept her slow pace while McCoy lingered a polite seven paces behind them.  “And the name you believe belongs to him?”

“S’haile Sybok, son of Skon.”

She tilted her head in interest.  “A Vulcan, then.”  That her son found a Vulcan – any Vulcan – interesting after the events of the last twenty-four hours was certainly a surprise.  “Did he insult you?  Steal from us?”

Jim actually chuckled at the questions.  “No, of course not.  I just find him very…intriguing is all.”

Winona studied her son.  There was a shine in his eyes that spoke of something other than mere curiosity, something in his step that seemed less weighed by a duty he did not expect.  “I see,” she said. 

“He told me that he’s staying with an old family acquaintance, but he didn’t tell me who they were, or where they reside.  I thought I could find him by just his name, but I can’t.  There’s nothing on him in our records.”

She sipped her wine.  “Have you approached Miss Uhura to look in the Vulcan records?”

Jim shook his head.  “That woman can’t stand me.”  And she was a little bit intimidating when she wanted to be.  “I don’t want her to get the wrong idea about it.”

“And what is the wrong idea?”

Jim had no idea how to answer that.  And when he had no answer, it was the time to evade the question.  “I came to ask if you’ve ever heard of him.”

Winona shook her head, which Jim had honestly expected but had hoped would be a different response.  “Vulcan is a tricky language.  Perhaps you have heard wrong.  In any case, there are quite a high number of Vulcan nobility – and I’d wager that many of them have similar names.”  She knew he had avoided her earlier question.  She tried to rephrase it.  “Why do you ask, sweetheart?”

Jim smiled at her, but she could easily recognize a false smile in her youngest and expressive son.  “It’s not important.”

“James!” shouted his father from the other end of their chosen garden path.  Jim grimaced and Winona took a deep drink of her wine.  George walked quickly to his wife and son.  “I have spent far too long thinking about our conversation from this afternoon, but I may have finally come up with something that can suit my conditions and your demands.”

Winona dreaded whatever words would next come from her husband’s mouth. To her surprise, it was not as terrible as she’d feared. 

“You desire to wed someone you love, and I demand that you marry T’Pring.  The latter is scheduled to occur seven days from now.  I give you until the fifth to find the love you seek.  If you do, you are free to wed the one of your choosing.  If you do not, you will marry T’Pring.  How we will announce your choice – whether for love or for duty – will be at a masque ball six days from now that we will say is to honor the achievements of Engineer Montgomery Scott for his work on the transporter system he is attempting to improve.  Do you agree to these terms?”

George’s words left not only Winona and Jim stunned.  McCoy tried very hard to conceal his own surprise.  King George had never before compromised on anything.  Luckily, Jim was the first to recover from that shock.  “And if I decide on someone other than T’Pring?  What happens to the alliance with Vulcan?”

George sighed deeply.  “I will worry about that if it happens, James.  Your challenge is much harder.  Are we agreed?”

Winona looked at her husband as though she had never met the man until that moment.  Perhaps he had had an epiphany about his family.  He’d already succeeded in pushing their eldest son away from them with his rigid demands.  Maybe when James had tried to defend himself, it had led to George determining that he did not wish to repeat the same occurrence with their last remaining son.  Whatever it was that brought the king to this offer, Winona was grateful. 

So, apparently, was James.  His mouth had fallen open in shock and his mind struggled to understand what his father had given him.  It was not much time, but it was more than he could hope for.  Then, he smiled brightly at his father.  “We are.  Thank you, Father.”


	5. Close Calls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is turning out to be a little longer than I'd originally planned. But, hopefully, no one complains about a little more romantic fluff in their reading... Thank you for reading, as always. ~ RK

Viscount Marcus had read the invitation over with impressive speed.  Of all of the royal messengers to deliver this to his door, he was pleased to see that it had been Gary Mitchell.  The Mitchells, long in service of the royal family for generations, were not the sharpest minds in the realm.  But the less sharp the mind, the easier it proved to manipulate to one’s advantage.  Marcus had already done this with the father over a decade ago.  If this boy had hoped to collect on his late father’s promised price, then he was very much mistaken.  His father’s service had been the first phase.  The second had been to slowly dismiss the staff members of this manor to lessen the number of prying eyes and ears about.  The third was only now potentially about to begin.  But Viscount Marcus had been patient, and would continue to be in order to see it through.

“And the word regarding the Vulcan arrangement?” he asked. 

“It can be voided on one condition, or so I’ve heard,” informed Gary.

“And that is?”

“If he were to choose his own—”

“His own bride,” Marcus took over, “then the marriage to Vulcan is off.”

Gary nodded.  “But he’s to choose before that date.”  He nodded towards the invitation. 

This boy thought he was so clever, thinking he was in charge of the situation.  The fool.  Gary’s father had thought the same thing, but he had turned up dead, an accident, of course.  Marcus decided to play along.  “Then, I believe we must come to an arrangement.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Gary agreed.  This was far too simple.  It almost took the enjoyment out of it. 

But not quite.  “I’ll need to know everything regarding the schedule of Prince James, where he plans to be, who he spends time with most, and if there is any competition for my Janice.”

“You wish me to spy on the prince?” 

Perhaps Gary wasn’t as stupid as his father, but not much smarter either.  If he were only to grasp the minimum about the situation, then the Viscount could work with that.  “See to it that my daughter, Janice, becomes queen.  In return, my other daughter, Carol, is yours to wed.  You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d be my son, under my protection, and would inherit my lands and estate.  Consider it a thank you for both your father’s and your service to me.”

Gary allowed a smile to slowly form.  He would indeed like that.  He wasn’t paid a decent wage as a messenger, even for royalty.  To marry Viscount Marcus’s daughter would mean that he would become related to the royal family, and become a landed nobleman, both of which were very advantageous positions to hold.  He would be a fool to refuse.  Decision made, he leaned toward the Viscount.  “The prince is sparring publicly with one of the Vulcan delegation’s guards, tomorrow at noon.  He’s hoping to show his dedication to learning Vulcan culture for his bride.”

There was only one place where public combats-of-sport were exhibited.  Viscount Marcus smiled.  “I will be there.”

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

She stood on the ladder while Spock waited for the snipped branches to fall to the ground.  They were pruning the trees.  Natasha got rid of the branches that inhibited the flourishing growth of the tree as a whole, while Spock would pick up the discarded branches, strip the leaves, and chop them down into sizes that could easily fit in the fireplaces, sorting them all by thickness of the limbs.  “I wish I’d been able to see you at the palace, looking like the lordling you are, and speaking with your father’s precision.”

Spock tossed one of the thick pieces into the bigger wheelbarrow.  “Natasha, my precision was used to scold the prince about the king’s laws.  I should have been arrested.”

Natasha laughed as she worked on the next branch.  “Christopher didn’t do the moment justice when he told me, then.  He said the prince followed you after he was released and you’d started walking away, only to—”

“Demand my name,” Spock finished.  He sighed as he picked up another log he’d chopped down. 

Spock never – or at least very rarely – sighed.  Natasha stopped her work on the branch and looked at him.  “What did you tell him?”

He looked up at her, a strange look in his eyes.  “S’haile Sybok, son of Skon.”

She nodded knowingly.  “Your brother…although he’s certainly not your grandfather’s son.  Decided to skip right over your father?”

Spock’s eyes flashed in anger.  “I did not wish to give him a name that would make his search simple.  Had I given him Sarek’s name, His Highness would easily discover that I had lied.”

Natasha smiled.  “If I were in his position I would have tried to look up your records, and when I had found nothing on a Sybok, son of Skon I would have known in that moment that you’d lied to me.”  She felled the next branch.  “He knows you lied.”  Then she shrugged.  “Either that or he’s too stupid to think you would have lied and thinks that your record is buried somewhere in a Vulcan database, which he most likely can’t read.”

“I’m certain he can, Natasha.  He is hosting a Vulcan delegation.  How would they speak?”  He dragged this large branch to his chopping block. 

“Probably an interpreter, dear.”  Natasha searched out her next target.  “But back to you giving the prince your brother’s name.”

Spock worked to saw off section of the branch to get some logs to split.  “My dead brother’s name and only half of it!  If the prince wishes to find me, he will only discover a half-Vulcan boy who perished during his infancy and is buried among others at the estate on Vulcan, a place I have never seen due to Skon banishing his son for wedding a human female, and then producing a sickly child that died far too early.”

Natasha wondered if Spock were being both figurative and literal in that moment.  Sybok had died as an infant, but Spock is healthy, strong, and intelligent.  However, she’d once overheard the Viscount discuss how he had no male heir to inherit the estate when he would die.  She’d passed it off as the man’s determination not to allow Spock to claim anything of his mother’s, but now she wondered if there had been something more to the Viscount’s words.  “Do you fear that the prince will figure you out then, and take you away?”

“I have lied to royalty, an inexcusable offense.”  He split another log.

Natasha sawed off another branch, then climbed down the ladder so that she could move on to the next tree.  “You also beat the prince in our stable, but he forgave you for that.”

Spock shook his head.  “He should not have.”

She steadied the ladder on the next tree, making sure it was stable.  “Spock, he’s royalty.  They do whatever they decide pleases them.”  She thought that would be the end of their conversation for a little while.  Up the ladder she climbed to reach the branches that needed removing. 

“Did you hear the Viscount crowing that Janice attracted the prince?” Spock said, glumly. 

“It’s the only thing anyone hears in this place is that it’ll be Princess Janice soon.”  Her tone made it very clear how she disliked the notion.

Spock did not feel the same as Natasha – that disgusted anger.  Instead, he felt saddened, not for himself but for the prince.  He seemed kind, though admittedly irritatingly persistent.  “He deserves better than Janice.”

At those words, Natasha came back down the ladder and went directly to him.  “The toilets in this entire estate deserve better than Janice.”  She reached up and brushed a loose lock of his long hair away from him eyes.  “But, Spock, Prince James is _entitled_ to someone better than Janice.” 

It took a great deal of his control not to smile at her words – both what she said and what she did not.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

“Come on, Bones!” he chirruped as he left his rooms, still in the midst of putting on his long riding jacket. 

Mumbling to himself, Captain McCoy grumpily followed his friend.  “Where are we going?  You never get up and going unless you’re trying to sneak off somewhere.”

Jim shot him a look that questioned both McCoy’s sanity and memory.  “It’s ten in the morning.  I’ve been up at the latest by nine ever since I was – what? – seven years old?  I think you’re getting senile, Bones.”

“You know, I resent that, Highness.”

Jim just laughed.  When Montgomery Scott asked him to accompany him on a tour of the nearest orchards and wineries, Prince James couldn’t move quickly enough.  He didn’t even care that the engineer’s excuse was to get some test subjects for his work.  Jim was willing to use any excuse to get out of the Royal Grounds on the slim chance that he could just possibly run into Sybok again.  If his pestering him eventually won him the Vulcan’s name, then maybe a little more pestering could let him find out where he was staying or at least why he couldn’t find any sort of record on him! 

“We’re going to some wineries and orchards.  Apparently, Scotty wants to try his technology on inanimate objects first.”

McCoy now matched stride with his excited prince.  “I sure hope so, Jim, otherwise he’s risking homicide by scattering people’s atoms all over who knows where in the delusional hope that he’s able to put them back together again somewhere else.” 

Jim turned around so that he could fully face McCoy, only he didn’t stop walking – he just went backwards now.  “Does transporter technology make you nervous?” he teased.  “I think it’s awesome.”

McCoy grabbed the prince’s shoulders and bodily repositioned him so that he wouldn’t run into the column he’d been heading straight for as he walked backwards.  Jim never broke stride, but let his friend reposition him.  “You would think it’s a good idea.  But someone like me sees so many ways that it can go wrong.”

As he threw his head back in exasperation, Jim turned back around.  “Oh, come on!  You’re just too stubbornly set in your ways.”  His excited, bouncing step turned into a light jog as soon as they emerged outside.  McCoy hoped they were going to take horses today.  “You have my medkit, right?” Jim asked.

McCoy rolled his eyes.  “I always have your damn medkit!”

“Okay good!”  Jim flashed a smile.  “Because I plan to sample almost anything that smells good to me.”

When they rounded the corner both men saw Montgomery Scott waiting by a trio of horses.  One of them had been hitched to a small cart – presumably for his anticipated test subjects.  Jim easily mounted his horse and impatiently waited for his companions to ready themselves for their outing.  That was when McCoy finally figured it out.  “Jim, why the hell are you so happy today?”  Jim just flashed him another smile. 

The engineer got up onto his horse last.  As soon as he settled, their small group set out.  “I hear, Prince laddie, that you are supposed to go about findin’ a replacement for your Vulcan bride within five days.”

McCoy thought the mention of marriage would have dimmed the prince’s spirits, but it in fact had zero impact.  “That’s right, Mister Scott,” he answered for the prince.  “Damned if I know how he’s going to decide that one.”

“Isn’t that why you convinced my father to forget all about my house arrest?” Jim asked.  “So that I could – wait, how did you put it?”

McCoy sighed.  “So you could search out your one true love and torment us all in your disgusting happiness for the rest of our days.”

Jim laughed.  “Right, that was it.”

Montgomery Scott asked the question that most likely everyone had been wondering.  “So, where’s it you plannin’ on startin’ the process?”

His laughter died then.  He’d been dealing with this problem already.  He thought he’d had somewhere solid to start but it had gotten him nowhere, and he was back to square one.  Now with his father’s demanding compromise, he had no time to keep running into a dead end.  His only hope was that he would encounter Sybok by wandering around the realm…which would take time.  What if he never found him again?  Should he have a backup plan?  The thing was that Jim didn’t want a backup plan, but the reality of the matter was that he had no way of finding Sybok unless blind luck intervened.  Luck, unfortunately, was something in which he didn’t hold much faith.  Besides, even with luck like that, the king and queen would hardly welcome a male as their heir’s spouse.  He couldn’t have children of his own with a male.  Perhaps he should give up on the intriguing Vulcan and look for someone else, someone female.  “I have no idea,” he admitted.  “But I guess our little tour is as good a place to start as any, right, Scotty?”

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

It was times like this in which Viscount Marcus wondered whether it would have been easier to have sons instead of daughters.  His skill in choosing the perfect dress for his daughter lacked severely.  Then again, the entire problem could be that he was trying to help his daughter choose a compliment-inspiring dress.  He knew only one perspective when it came to dresses and that was what he liked on a woman, what color he liked a woman to wear.  But when it came to choosing a dress for another man’s enjoyment, and on his daughter no less, that was where his wardrobe choosing skill ended. 

“Why are you dismissing this one?”

Janice rolled her eyes at her father for the uncountable time.  “Because that one is green.” 

Marcus felt the green silk between his fingers.  “I thought Prince James prefers this color.”

Janice huffed.  “Father, if even _you_ know that the prince’s favorite color is green, then that means everyone who hopes to get his attention knows that, and they’ll all be wearing it!”  She continued searching through her large closet.  “I will be the one to stand out in a sea of green by wearing a color other than green!” she shrieked. 

Marcus sighed.  He had no idea what to do, other than make sure that Carol wore green so that she could be as unnoticeable as every other girl Janice was convinced would be wearing green. 

Carol, speak of the devil, came into the room with a dress half-zipped up her back.  She’d had this dress since just after she began to develop her womanly shape.  She knew there would be no way that it would fit her now, considering her grown breasts and widened hips.  She looked at her father and tried to plead with him with her eyes.  “Do we really not have enough credits to afford a new formal dress for me?”

Marcus knew that he did, but there was no way he intended to spend any of it on Carol.  “I’m sorry, darling.  We’ll have to see if we can take one of your old ones out at the seams.  Perhaps if you didn’t eat so much this wouldn’t be a problem.”

Carol almost let her tears fall.  She knew she was healthy, but borderline too thin for her height and age.  It wasn’t that she ate too much.  It was that her father only just barely acknowledged her existence.  She looked around Janice’s room, seeing the numerous dresses flung onto the floor, strewn across furniture pieces, and the seemingly endless hangers crammed into her closet.  She knew that some of those dresses would eventually come to her as hand-me-downs, but not until they had been damaged in some way – a tear along a seam, stains on the skirt edging, the ornate trim falling off.  Carol’s clothing was all faded and clearly seemed second-hand.  Whenever she went out with her father and sister, people looked at her like she was their servant, not their family.  The very first time she had ever been singled out in a positive way was by the prince’s guard yesterday, and it made her heart flutter with the hope that he wasn’t being cruel, that it wasn’t a jest, that someone for once had actually noticed Carol Ann Marcus instead of Janice Lestra Patricia Marcus!  She wanted to go to the masque, dressed as a lady like her sister.  She wanted to find that guard, ask him his name, maybe have a drink with him, and just talk about nothing and everything.  She wanted just one night where she felt like someone that mattered.  And she wanted to wear something nice for it on the unlikely occurrence that that guard – she really wanted to know his name! – was actually interested in some way in her.

But her father had just said no to that dream. 

“I do not have any suitable dresses, father.”

Viscount Marcus frowned at her.  “This masque is not about you, this is about one thing: making sure that Prince James chooses Janice as his bride.”

Janice flung another dress to the floor.  “Which will not happen unless I look like his bride when I arrive!  Nothing here says that I am a princess!”

He hated to see his daughter nearly in tears.  Suddenly, he had an idea.  “Come with me, my dearest.”

Carol saw the predatory look in Janice’s eyes – the deadly excitement – and she followed her father and sister from Janice’s rooms all the way to a rarely used suite in the manor.  It had been Spock’s childhood rooms before her father had forbidden him to enter them again, calling them only worthy for his future grandchildren.  By that phrase, Carol knew he had meant any children Janice would have, since he had never mentioned to her of a potential match.  It was another reason why she so very much wanted to look her best for Mister Guard.  She thought he might even be the prince’s Captain of the Guard.  Perhaps she could call him Captain Guard…or Captain Royal.  She liked Captain Royal better, at least until she learned his name, if she ever learned his name. 

She stood in the doorway and watched as Viscount Marcus went directly to a carved cedar trunk and opened it.  A moment later, he slowly took out a dress and held it up for Janice to see.  The ivory dress was clearly made from a luxuriously expensive fabric just by the way it flowed elegantly as it moved.  The gown’s solid fabric ended at the bust in a simple dipped neckline.  Attached to the dress was a lace over-gown from the bottom hem and up to the collar, including delicate sleeves.  This over-gown was interwoven with gold threading and tiny sewn-in gemstones of sapphire, aquamarine, and paraiba tourmaline.  The dress shimmered each time the light caught it from a different angle.  It was truly the most magnificent dress that Carol had ever seen. 

Janice seemed to agree by her breathless admiration of it.  “Father, it’s perfect!”

Carol decided to remind them of her presence.  “Whose dress was that?”

The Viscount looked at his younger daughter as though she were stupid.  Sometimes he even thought she was stupid.  He decided to humor her this time.  “Belonged to Amanda from her first marriage to that alien.  She left it for Spock in her will.”

Janice looked offended.  “Why?  It’s not like he’ll need it!”

“And the alien’s wedding clothes, too,” Marcus drawled, making it more than clear how he felt about Amanda’s first husband. 

Carol may not know much about Vulcan culture but even she knew that it had been an enduring tradition of the noble families to pass family items – particularly those of important significance – through generations of the family line.  They served as reflections of the past, and monuments of those long gone.  She wondered how her father and sister could function in this society without knowing anything about other cultures.  But then she realized that even were they to know those practices, they would simply dismiss them as irrelevant because they were not human customs.  Her family was small-minded and prejudiced. 

Inside the chest where her father had withdrawn the dress was a second bundle.  She assumed that within that folded fabric rested Lord Sarek’s clothing from his wedding to Lady Amanda.  Placed on top of it was a strange pendant – a symbol that Carol had never seen.  It was forged metal in an interlocking circle and triangle with a carved blue gemstone, all suspended from a fine golden chain.  It held obvious significance, but Carol had no idea what it could be, or know how she could find out.  

“Besides,” Janice tried to justify her father’s proposed idea of, essentially, thievery.  “It’s a waste to keep it in a box and not used.”

Carol usually held her tongue like her father demanded, but this…she would not stand idly and found complicit in this.  “Father, they belong to Spock.  Perhaps he’ll want to wear his father’s robes to the masque.”

Janice only then seemed to realize Carol also stood in the room.  “Why would Spock be allowed to go to the masque?”

“Because he’s our stepbrother,” Carol answered.  “The invitation was for all family members, and he is family.”

Janice laughed at her reasoning.  “He’s s servant, you idiot.”

Their father turned his anger on Carol.  “And he’s not even human, so no one would even notice him being gone.”

Carol couldn’t believe the horrible things coming out of her father’s mouth.  “Does Spock know about these being left to him?”

Viscount Marcus frowned deeply.  “He does, unfortunately.”

“And you don’t think that Spock won’t notice you’re stealing what’s his?”

If Janice hadn’t spoken first, Carol could have sworn that her father had been about to hit her.  “Whose side are you even on?”

“It’s not stealing when you own it,” her father insisted.  “Everything in this house is mine, including anything that may have been that half-bred creature’s things.  So it’s up to me to decide what to do with everything, everyone, and anything in this estate!”

Carol tried not to let her fear show.  “You’ve always taught me to be polite among others.  I’m sure if you just pretended in this instance things would still go the way you wish.  Why don’t you just ask Spock about it?”

Viscount Marcus looked livid.  He’d opened his mouth to heatedly reply when a timid voice asked from the doorway, “Ask me what?”

All three of them turned to see Spock standing in the doorway of the room he had not been permitted to enter since his mother’s death, awkwardly holding freshly split logs that were clearly not intended for the fireplace in this long abandoned and cold room.  He guarded his expression, but he could not curb his rigid stance when he recognized the garment that his stepfather held up.  He clutched the logs closer to his chest. 

The Viscount measured Spock’s posture, and the emotion always visible in his eyes.  He wondered just how much the boy had heard.  For the first time since seeing this troublesome Vulcan, he had nothing prepared to say.  And so, the words that poured from his mouth surprised even himself.  “Whether you would like to wear one of your father’s ceremonial robes to the royal masque in five days.”  What had he just said?

Spock did not understand.  “A masque?  Me?”  Then why was the Viscount holding his mother’s bonding dress and not his father’s robes?  It did not make sense. 

“Of course, Spock.  The invitation that arrived asked for all family members to attend, and we wanted to surprise you.”  The lie was getting easier.  “We knew you have nothing formal to wear and were looking through your parents’ old clothes to find something suitable for you.”

“I do not know what I should say,” Spock admitted.  This situation was quite strange.  He tried to recall an instance – any at all – in which the Viscount or Janice had ever openly considered him part of their family.  He could not.  Was this a cruel jest?

“If you hadn’t been so nosey,” Janice added, “we would have had everything ready to surprise you better.  But you found us first and ruined your own surprise.”

“I thought it would be a good chance for you to truly experience all of the splendor you’re missing when you work so hard on the manor,” the Viscount said. 

Spock had already seen quite enough of that splendor yesterday in his journey to free Pike.  He’d encountered Prince James properly, spoken to him like an equal, though in actuality he’d scolded him and the king.  If he went to this masque, he would certainly see him again.  “I would like to go,” he admitted quietly.  But Spock would never admit aloud that he wanted to see Prince James again, especially not to the Viscount or Janice…and probably not Carol. 

“Then, you will, provided you get all of your chores finished, and mind your manners towards us until that time.” 

Spock nodded.  “Of course, sir.”

Carol couldn’t believe what had just happened.  She couldn’t stop the huff of that disbelief from escaping before she turned and left the room in disgust and shame of her father and sister.  She’d always craved her father’s affection, but if it would have resulted in deceit and lies and hurt to others like she suspected it would end up for Spock, she was glad that she had never had Viscount Marcus’s love.  It made disliking her own father easier. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

 By the time midday passed and the late afternoon hues colored the sky, Scotty had loaded his cart with a variety of things on which to test his transporter technology.  He’d also purchased and thrown in there an impressive wine, cheese, and fruit collection.  Jim had even purchased some for himself and for Bones.  However, after hours and hours of having available women and men approaching him suggestively, he’d had enough of their tour.  He knew that the next several days would be like this, especially now that word had gotten out that the prince was searching for a bride.  His sanity just might break from a week of this nonsense.  He just wanted some peace and quiet. 

After a little persuasion, he and Scotty had convinced McCoy that they would survive heading home using a side road that ran along the river.  One of the noblemen, whose daughter had been almost shoved onto his lap as he’d sampled some wine, had cautioned him that the road was commonly used by the peasantry and the servants.  “I worry for Your Highness’s safety should you find yourself among too many of them.”  It made Jim wonder if the man treated his own servants poorly enough that they would revolt against him. 

Apparently, McCoy had had enough of Jim being accosted, too, as he growled to the man, “That’s why I’m around, sir!”  He rested one hand on his sword hilt and the other on his stun-phaser pointedly.  It shut the man up quickly. 

Jim never saw this area of his realm – the unfinished dirt roads that the lower classes were intended to travel upon.  There was a benefit, though.  There were trees that shaded them from the sun.  On the paved roads of town there were not many trees.  The sun burned you quickly.  He much preferred this type of travel.  It was relaxing, and that was precisely what he wanted at the moment.  That and perhaps something to eat.  So that he could enjoy the peaceful scenery, he’d asked Scotty to scope out a good place for them all to rest. 

There were several places along the edge of the river that would allow for a decent impromptu picnic ground.  There were large rocks along the river that had been eroded into smoothness by the water.  Some of them dipped into the river like a hesitant swimmer while others formed more of an outcropped ledge that overlooked the water rather than ran into it.  One of these would have to do, Scotty decided.  He stopped the cart and dismounted his horse, heading toward the river to better investigate his chosen spot.  The river was steady here, no loud rushes, just calm smooth water.  The rocks sloped smoothly down into the river at a relaxing declining thirty degree angle, perfect for reclining and possibly catching a brief nap.  Yes, this would do, indeed. 

Jim enthusiastically helped Scotty get a few things from the laden cart while McCoy secured their horses.  After all, McCoy had no ambition to walk all the way back to the palace – especially since it was more than likely he would be helping to haul the damn cart back there, too.  “Bones, stop worrying about the horses escaping and sit down!” Jim called to him from close to the water.  Grumbling to himself, the Captain of the Guard obeyed and flopped down moodily on the rock Scotty and Jim had set up for their lunch. 

“Can I talk about something?” Jim asked as he sliced off a piece of the hard cheese with his knife. 

“You’re the damn prince,” McCoy answered just before quickly taking a swig of the dry red wine.  “You could say anything you want and everyone else has to listen.”

Scotty snorted.  “Or at least pretend to.”

“I’m serious,” Jim said, glumly. 

That sobered McCoy immediately.  It seemed it would be one of _those_ talks.  “Okay, Jim.  What’s on your mind?”

Jim sighed.  “What if I made a mistake insisting on this?”  He felt like his clothing was strangling him.  He took off his jacket and flung it to his left in the dirt and rock, then loosened the laces of his light shirt.  At least he didn’t feel like he was being suffocated by his clothes anymore.  “What if I should just marry T’Pring and face the consequences?”

McCoy didn’t like this side of Jim.  “Then you’d be miserable the entire marriage because you didn’t take the chance to make yourself happy.”  Scotty nodded in agreement. 

Jim shook his head, plucking some grapes from their stems mindlessly.  “I mean, I already know what I’d kind of be getting with her, right?  Stoic, closed off.  She probably never laughs.  I don’t think I’ve seen a single Vulcan laugh.”  McCoy wondered fleetingly if they even smiled.  “She’s probably very proper and prim and as perfect as a Vulcan bride would be, but…what if marrying her is a mistake, too?”

Scotty didn’t even hide the fact that he was pouring some of their wine into a flask that he’d seemed to produce from the air.  “Both of those scenarios can’t be mistakes at the same time, laddie.”

“If I pick someone to marry instead of T’Pring I could pick the wrong person.  That would be a mistake.  And if I do choose the wrong person, then wouldn’t that be worse?  Fracturing the alliance with Vulcan by rejecting her for someone who in the end made me a miserable husband?”  The idea of marriage suddenly registered with Jim as he referred to himself as a husband.  The responsibility, the pressure, and the permanency of it. 

“Thing is, Jim,” McCoy said quietly, “you won’t be able to know that until you are married and living with them and—”

“By then it’d be too late, Bones.”  Divorce was not an option for royalty.  It was why his mother had never left his father, he assumed.  Then again, they seemed to at the very least tolerate each other, and manage to find common ground most of the time – but they never quite reached a level that could be called happiness.  Jim didn’t want that for himself.  He wanted to be happy with whoever he married.  He wanted to be near them, not to tolerate them.  “How am I supposed to know who I should choose in less than a week?  How can I even get to know someone in that time?  What if I’ve already met them and just don’t know it right now and only figure that out when I’ve already married someone else?  What if I already let the one go that I’m supposed to be with?  Am I supposed to just pick someone?  Someone I know even less than T’Pring?”

“You don’t even know T’Pring.”

“That’s exactly my point!” Jim growled back.  “Either way I’m marrying a stranger.”  He took a long drink of the wine, and then sighed as he reclined back onto the rock to bask in the sun.   

McCoy took a contemplative sip of his wine as he watched.  He knew the person that had been occupying the prince’s mind lately – the unusual young Vulcan lord.  That Jim couldn’t find him was probably making this all worse in his mind.  When Jim got obsessed with something, he didn’t stop until he had answers. 

Scotty, while practically a professional when it came to drinking record-setting amounts of alcohol, had no intention of returning to the palace with a drunk prince.  For that not to happen, he needed to distract him.  “Laddie, have you ever experienced the joy of walkin’ on water?”

Of all the things Jim expected either of his companions to say it was definitely not that.  His brow came down in his confusion.  “What?”

But the engineer was already on his feet and rooting through his cart.  “I came up with these little gadgets a while back an’ I thought if we happened to be near a lake one of us might enjoy the sport.”

McCoy saw the childlike wonder in Jim’s eyes, and it brought him to his own feet.  “Hang on just a minute, man,” he ordered.  “Have you tested those things?”

“Aye, once or twice.”  Scotty had hustled the strange-looking mechanical shoes back to the prince and had already started to attach them to Jim’s boots. 

“On what, if you don’t mind?” McCoy demanded of the other man.

“Um…grass, dirt, the usual.”

“So not water is what you’re telling me?”  He didn’t even wait for the Scotsman’s reply before he turned to an obviously excited Jim.  “Jim, this is a very bad idea to go out there on water testing some crazy thing like that.”

Jim laughed.  “They’re just shoes, Bones.”

“Shoes that make you float!” Scotty said, proudly.

“See?  Shoes that’ll make me float.  What’s the worst that can happen?”

He could think of several possibilities.  “Oh, I don’t know, but drowning is number one on my list right now!”

“I won’t drown, Bones!  Jesus!  Relax,” Jim urged him.  “Have some wine and watch me not even get wet in a river!  Though, if I do end up falling in, as my personal guard, it’s up to you to rescue me.”  He winked at him and then walked to the very edge of the water.  “Turn them on, Scotty!”

“Aye, sir.”  Scotty activated the shoes and Jim started to slowly rise from the ground.  He steadied the prince as he grew accustomed to the weightlessness of the shoes’ gravity resistance.  “Balance is the key, Your Highness.”

“This is awesome!” he marveled.  “Okay, help me out the first few feet, then let me go.”  McCoy watched this ridiculously unwise experiment with uneasy eyes, not even taking them off Jim when he lifted the bottle of wine to his mouth, completely giving up on his glass!  Bad idea.  This had bad idea all over it. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

“For ten minutes only, Pavel,” Spock insisted.  “But you must run ahead.  When I catch up to you, we must go.”  They were already late bringing along the four baskets of strawberries to the market.  They simply hadn’t fit on the cart that Pike and Natasha had taken on ahead to set up their crops for sale.  Spock had promised to arrive with an additional two baskets of berries with Pavel just to avoid the boy getting into trouble with the Viscount for not being fast enough at harvesting them.  He would take any punishment for the boy, even if it meant that he had to double his own chores to let Pavel enjoy some of his childhood. 

Even if it meant being a little later than they already were because Pavel wanted to cool off in the river.  The boy was very flushed and red from being in the sun so long.  The cool water would do him good.  And so Spock had watched Pavel run off along the trail, looking for a steady part of the river so that he wouldn’t be swept away by a current.  As the boy ran, every once in a while a berry would fall from his baskets.  There was no way that Spock could possibly carry all four of them.  But he did stoop down to pick up the dropped strawberries as he followed Pavel’s path and added them to his own baskets.  He wondered if Pavel Chekov-Pike had purposefully coaxed the berries from his basket so that it would force Spock to take longer to meet up with him again.  He would not put it past the child. 

It took him only four and a half minutes to reach the spot that Pavel had turned off the path and to the river.  He followed his tracks easily enough, and about halfway to the water Pike’s son had put his strawberries close to a tree trunk.  Spock sighed and left the path, crouching down to put some of the berries that now overflowed his own baskets back into Pavel’s where they belonged. 

After he’d gotten all of that situated to his satisfaction, he heard a sharp cry, and knew it immediately.  “Pavel!” he shouted.  A second later, he’d abandoned the baskets and ran to the river. 

He heard the splashing long before he saw it, and someone shouting angrily, too.  “Damnit, Jim!  I knew this was a shit idea!”  Two grown men were clumsily splashing and running in the river towards the commotion further out.  Spock looked and saw Pavel stubbornly refusing help from the man near him, but seemed intact.  And the man…Spock threw himself against the nearest tree trunk.  The man was Prince James!  He dared not reveal himself, not looking like this, like the servant instead of the lord the prince had met yesterday.  He peered around the trunk just to make sure Pavel was alright.  Now his problem was how to get the boy back and on their way. 

“Little laddie!” shouted a strangely accented man.  Spock recognized him from the courtyard when the prince had demanded his name.  “Are ye alright?”

“Yeah,” Pavel said, coughing a little.  The man threw a blanket over him and hurriedly began drying the boy’s hair. 

“And you, Jim!” the last man said heatedly, pointing an angry finger in the prince’s face.  Spock was stunned that someone was able to behave like that to the prince.  “Next time you decide to prance around defying physics like that send someone else to risk death and drowning!”

The prince had sat down on the rock where an assortment of food and drink had been laid out.  Clearly the men had been here for a little while.  “Bones, I hardly think that just falling into some water is risking death.”

The man the prince called ‘Bones’ crouched down beside the prince, not even bothering to lower his voice.  He pointed at the mechanical devices attached to the prince’s boots.  “And what if those things short-circuited or something and electrocuted you?  What would I say to Their Majesties?” 

“That I decided not to marry anyone, for a start.”

Bones’s face went from angry to subdued frustration.  “That’s not very damn funny, Jim.”

“It could be,” the prince argued half-heartedly.  He managed to detach one of the strange devices and set it down next to him. 

“Come here and see these!”  With those words and the fact that Pavel looked right at him, Spock admitted that he had no choice but to reveal himself.  All he was unspeakably grateful for was that Pavel had somehow not used his name. 

“Where’re ye speakin’ to, lad?” 

“Him,” Pavel said, simply, gesturing to Spock. 

All of the adult men turned in his direction, but only one of them actually moved.  His smile transformed his face.  “Sybok!” Jim cried, trying to stand before he’d fully gotten the other device from his boot.  He ended up stumbling, then standing on one foot as he viciously wrestled it off and carelessly tossed it aside.  A moment later, Prince James stood before him, his clothing, hair, and skin dripping wet and glistening in the sunlight. 

Spock didn’t know what to do.  He was a servant.  Servants threw themselves to the ground before royalty.  But the prince had addressed him by the name he’d provided him with, and that was the name of a lord.  Lords bowed.  Spock closed his eyes and imitated the bow he’d seen the Viscount deliver on countless occasions.  “Your Highness,” he returned the greeting.  When he lifted his eyes to meet the prince’s he found them shining like the water on his skin. 

Spock had no idea what to say to him.  What could he say?  Anything that he could find to talk about would give himself away.

Then, the prince’s eyes shifted to something behind Spock.  He nodded in that direction.  “Are those your berries?”

He’d seen them, then.  “Yes.”

“You eat that many at once?” he asked Spock, sweeping his eyes quickly over the Vulcan’s figure.  He noticed the red stains on his knees and the tips of his fingers, noticed the dirt on his clothing.  “Do you pick them, too?”  Jim had never picked strawberries.  Vulcans obviously did.  He wondered if T’Pring picked her own fruits. 

“I assist the child at times,” Spock said, feeling that it was acceptable to bend the strict truth just a little.  “It is something that I enjoy.”

Jim smiled at Sybok.  After an entire day of searching for him, then having an endless parade of women and men thrown at him as potential partners, followed by a hopeless rant about marrying the wrong person, here was the very one for whom he’d searched since meeting him in the courtyard of the palace.  He wanted to keep him near him as long as he could today, and hopefully longer than yesterday.  His mind scrambled for a reason – any reason – to tempt Sybok.  “We’ve already started on a small lunch, but you’re more than welcome to join us.”

“I cannot.  The boy’s father will worry and—” Spock replied, keeping his expression neutral. 

Jim laughed to himself.  Did he offend this Vulcan somehow that made him want to be away from him?  How cruel would that be that the one with whom he wanted to spend time wanted nothing to do with him?  “Is that boy one of your servants?”  Sybok said nothing.  “Surely he’d understand his son’s absence because the prince asked for your company.”  If he had to use his royal privilege to keep Sybok from running again, so be it.  He was about to be married to a complete stranger, and this Vulcan made his mind come alive like no one ever had.  It may be selfish, but he wanted as much time with Sybok as he could get until the week was out. 

Spock had no argument for that, and no way to refuse.  He only hoped it would not delay their arrival overly long at the market.  “If that is your command, Highness.”

“It’s not a command.  It’s just a request.”  Jim felt that he had to specify the difference.  He didn’t want him to feel coerced to having a simple meal with him.  Then, again, maybe it would be good practice for whatever his marriage turned into. 

Spock recognized that the prince had given him a way out of accepting.  He could fetch Pavel, pick up their berries, and head to the market peacefully.  But, what if the prince followed them and saw him as he truly was – not the Vulcan lord he’d led the prince to believe?  But that was not the reason for his answer.  “Then, I accept your request, Your Highness.” 

He accepted it because he wanted to.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

After they’d all finished the rest of the small meal they’d set out, McCoy and Scotty seemed to have an unspoken understanding on what to do.  The boy that had accompanied the Vulcan had been eyeing up those troublesome mechanical shoes ever since Jim had torn them from his feet.  Scotty took the opportunity to distract the young boy by taking one of them apart slowly and explaining the components to the clearly enthralled youngster, making sure to leave plenty of time for any question he might have.  The more the boy talked and stayed interested in the shoe and its circuitry, the longer the prince had to speak with the mysterious Vulcan on his own. Although, to be honest, Scotty was impressed with the servant boy’s ability to understand what he was explaining to him.  He was a sharp young lad. 

McCoy, on the other hand, had found himself in the role of wait-staff.  He cleared their food and wine from their claimed rock and took it back to the cart.  He purposefully did this as slowly as possible, which meant only one to two items per trip as he cleared.  The only thing he left alone were the baskets of the strawberries.  They belonged to the Vulcan anyway. 

Not to mention that Jim was still slowly nibbling on them as he spoke with their guest.  He’d reach to his right blindly, never taking his attention from Sybok, grab a berry then slowly bite into it, like the sound of chewing the fruit would make him miss a word.  McCoy shook his head at the sight.  Jim should be looking for a replacement for T’Pring.  To reject her for some other Vulcan he couldn’t even find in the databases of Terra would be the height of disrespect and insult to her and her family.  He knew he should discourage this.  But when he heard Jim laugh or saw him smile at Sybok, he knew that he didn’t have a heart cold enough to put a stop to it. 

After a while, he stayed up by the horses and waited, wondering how long the Vulcan would stay this time before he ran. 

“So, he’s the son of the servant you raised such a fuss about yesterday?” Jim asked, clarifying Sybok’s statement. 

“He is.  I did not inform you of his child because it was not the only reason for my reclaiming him.”

“So, your goal was to mock my father’s laws, then.”  He tried to present a teasing smile.  Most Vulcans didn’t understand what teasing meant. 

When a faint green blush spread on Sybok’s pale cheeks, Jim realized that this one did understand teasing.  He’d never seen a Vulcan blush before, and he had succeeded in making one do it.  “I admit it was not my intention to criticize His Majesty.”

“But you did it so well.  And, to be frank, there are plenty of things that need improvement.”  He reached for another berry, noting that his hands were now beginning to stain red at the fingertips. 

“If you are aware of this, then why have you not taken steps to introduce changes?”

He widened his eyes at Sybok.  “I can’t do that until I come into the throne.”

“It would not harm you to try to establish those beginnings.  Could you not introduce policies that would be the seeds of change?”

Jim looked back at Sybok’s stained and dusty clothing.  “Says the one who picks strawberries with a servant boy.”  He’d said something wrong.  He knew it by the way Sybok stiffened where he sat.  “There’s nothing wrong with that or anything,” he tried to backtrack.  “I’ve never done any of that kind of thing, but I respect that someone does.”

Furious brown eyes turned to him.  “You respect them enough that you willingly would stand aside as they are sold and separated from their families, never to see them again?  If you respect those who fetch your food for you, then you would do what you could to ensure that those people were cared for instead of letting them be treated as less than they are.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jim tried to say, but stopped as Sybok rose to his feet, softly calling for the boy who’d accompanied him.  This was not how he wanted this to end this time.  It had gone so well!  “Wait, Sybok!” he said, reaching to take the Vulcan’s arm. 

But Sybok evaded his grasp and those furious eyes found his again.  “I may not have your privileges and authority, but I do not disregard those who have helped me prosper.  I take pride in something as simple as a successful yield of crops because it helps to ensure that the estate does not fall into disrepair and ruin.”  Then, abruptly, the anger left him.    “Forgive me, Your Highness.  I have spoken out of turn.  I apologize.”

The only thing audible was the river.  In that silence, Jim took Sybok in.  His head was lowered and he seemed so very sad in that instant.  How this Vulcan could be this remarkably easy to read emotionally was a mystery to Jim, but one that he did not mind remaining unsolved.  That he could tell what Sybok felt was more than enough.  “I can’t forgive an offense you’ve never committed,” he said. 

Sybok nodded then turned away from him.  “Come,” he said to the boy, who obediently stood and dusted himself off.  “Get your baskets.  We must go.” 

“Sybok,” Jim said his name softly.  “Thank you.”

The slant of those eyebrows grew steeper as he gave him a puzzled expression.  “For what?”

Jim wanted so badly to touch him, but knew that Vulcans abhorred contact casually.  He was never more grateful for paying attention when the royal family had been briefed on etiquette towards Vulcans.  Perhaps his actions could ease the mistakes he made with his words.  He offered Sybok a gentle smile.  “For advising me on a few ideas on what kind of changes I should think about making.”  The reaction from Sybok – unsettledness – was not the one he’d hoped for.  Perhaps he needed to elaborate.  “That, and for—”  Could he actually say something like that to a Vulcan?  But Sybok wasn’t like any other Vulcans he’d met. 

“And for?” Sybok prompted him. 

Jim spoke before he’d really thought about any kind of consequence to his words.  “For being so fascinating to me.”

Sybok lowered his gaze to the ground again.  One of the city’s bells rang loudly – the sound carrying all the way to their isolated location.  Sybok’s head came up like the bell had awoken him from sleeping.  “Forgive me, Your Highness, I must go.”  He bent to pick up the remaining two baskets of berries and began to walk away. 

Jim watched only for a moment, then remembered what he had done wrong.  It was the same mistake he’d made yesterday.  He failed to arrange a next meeting.  He called out to Sybok.  “I’ll be sparring with Klashausu Solen tomorrow at noon.  Will you come watch?”

“I must go,” Sybok responded, glancing back as he reached the trail. 

He didn’t know what exactly Sybok meant by the reply – whether he looked forward to seeing the sparring match, or if he meant he had to leave their picnic in that moment.  He almost didn’t care which because even from the small distance between them when the Vulcan glanced back to him, Jim’s mind was distracted by the green blush on Sybok’s cheeks.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

The first time he walked past the open door to the library, he hadn’t noticed.  But the second time, Spock saw that the display box that usually contained the ka’athyra did not contain the instrument.  When he had been very young, his mother had once told him that she and Sarek had played often, especially during their courtship.  To see that it was absent from his proud display case felt like a blow to Spock. 

He did not speak of it, or ask the Viscount where it might be for fear of the answer.  But it did not stop him from asking someone else.  “Christopher,” he said quietly, as he brought the tray of soups up the stairs to the dining room.  “Do you know what has happened to the ka’athyra?”

Pike followed him with the small bowls of salads on a separate tray.  “No,” he admitted.  “But I noticed a few other things are missing, too.”

Pavel followed both of them with a small dish of the accompanying olive and rosemary bread and butter.  “I bet the Viscount will blame all of us for it.”

“Shh, Pav,” his father hushed him.  “Keep silent unless you’re asked a question.  Do you understand?”  Pavel nodded.  “And not a word about anything that happened with you-know-who this afternoon with the berries and the floating shoes, right?”  Again, Pavel nodded.  The Pike family was determined to repay Spock for rescuing Christopher by any means necessary, especially if it meant lying to the Viscount and his daughters.  They would sooner face repercussions themselves than see Spock come to harm for doing what he did for them. 

By the time they entered the dining room, the conversation between Janice and the Viscount had clearly been going on for a while.  Carol, as usual, remained silent.  “—why he’s even bothering to learn anything about Vulcan culture when he’s not going to marry one.”

“Janice, dear,” the Viscount said patiently, “Prince James must still present the appearance of planetary cooperation with Vulcan.  For all we know, the royal family hasn’t made it public knowledge to many that the prince is seeking a Terran bride to replace the Vulcan.”

Janice rolled her eyes.  “The Vulcan bitch, you mean.”

Carol closed her eyes at her sister’s words, then flicked her gaze to Spock who placed her soup in front of her.  “Thank you,” she whispered.  Spock offered her the smallest of smiles in response.  He could not verbally reply. 

“There is no reason to be vulgar, Janice,” the Viscount admonished, his tone just barely hardening.  “Though she probably is one if she’s driven the prince to desperately look for someone else so close to their wedding.”

Janice held her glass up, and Pike went to fill it with wine.  Janice had taken to drinking wine suddenly.  She loudly announced that she should get used to drinking wine if she was to be a princess.  Royalty drank expensive wine like peasants drank their dirty water, according to her.  As soon as her glass was filled, she shooed Pike away with a wave of her free hand.  “Although, for being so against Vulcans, he seems to hang around quite a few of them,” she said nastily, the distaste clear in her tone. 

“He does still have to speak to the delegation, though, doesn’t he?” Carol blurted out before she could stop herself.  Both the Viscount and Janice stopped and stared at her.  Whenever Carol spoke at meals they seemed to remember her existence. 

“That is true, I suppose,” the Viscount agreed, after recovering from the surprise of Carol opening her mouth for something other than eating during a meal. 

Janice scowled into her soup, tearing apart her bread viciously.  “I want to know who everyone was talking about when they mentioned a Vulcan that the prince nearly fell off his horse so that he could talk to him.” 

Spock stiffened where he stood between Pike and Pavel.  He quickly controlled his tension and tried desperately to relax.  He glanced down at Pavel, who looked up at him – the knowledge of their family secret shining in his eyes.  He understood quickly, though, why Spock would be so nervous.  As quickly as the mischief in Pavel’s eyes appeared, the boy managed to make it vanish again. 

“I wouldn’t worry too much, my dear,” the Viscount tried to reassure his daughter.  “He is searching for a bride, after all, not a husband.  A prince needs children, and for that, a woman.  So we will not concern ourselves with any male – whatever species – the prince spends time with.  We need to worry about the women around him, and make sure that the only one near him is you.  Give him one option to work with, and the crown will be yours, Janice.” 

Janice smiled satisfactorily to herself, gleefully sipping her soup from the spoon. 

The words the Viscount said had the opposite effect on Spock.  The prince did need heirs, and he knew that as a male he most definitely did not fit the criteria.  He wondered what he thought he was doing, spending time with a prince, risking punishment like he did. 

“Did you hear what else was being said among everyone today, father?” Carol asked, surprising everyone again by speaking, but determined to contribute to conversation.  “The king announced a new order.”

“No,” the Viscount admitted.  “What did it say?”

Spock swallowed nervously.  Surely he did not.  He waited for Carol to enlighten everyone.  “That the selling of one’s servants is strictly forbidden.”  He did. Spock could barely breathe.  “Personal property is to be sold if any estate is in financial difficulty.  That all productive estates and manors have a duty to their King, and they can’t be productive without the help of the servants.”

“What nonsense!” Janice exclaimed. 

“Has His Majesty gone mad?” the Viscount rhetorically asked.  “As if we’d sell our possessions.” 

Spock could not believe what Carol had said.  Had the prince actually taken his angry words to heart?  Evidence seemed to indicate that he did.  Spock struggled to keep his joy and pride from showing in his expression.  He only had to look at Janice to achieve it.  He watched Janice sip her wine.  Spock had shared wine with a prince that afternoon, accompanied by Spock’s own harvest of strawberries and a Scottish engineer’s beloved Inverloch cheese.   The food had been too simple for someone like Janice, but for Spock it was one of the finest meals he’d ever eaten. 

Later, when he was helping Pike clean the kitchen area, the man gave him a fond sideways glance.  “Looks like someone made an impression, Spock.”  He winked at the young half-Vulcan, and Spock felt his cheeks heat again. 

  Then, he understood that was why he’d accepted the prince’s invitation for the meal in the first place.  Because he’d been able to keep pretending that he was worth more than the treatment his stepfamily dealt him, he’d been worth speaking to, worth acknowledging, worth someone’s time.  Spock had been worth a prince’s time. 

For the first time since his mother’s death, by the river, Spock had been happy.  But he knew it could never be.  He was only a servant, after all.  And royalty never married servants.  But it would not stop Spock from living such a scenario in his dreams. 


	6. Longing, Lusting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief non-con element in this chapter.

Only about halfway through his session with Klashausu Solen did Prince James decide that he was definitely not cut out for the Vulcan style of fighting.  In fact, he was terrible at it.  Sus-mahna, or whatever the Vulcans called it, made him look like he wouldn’t be able to defend himself against a small child!  To say that this display got him nothing but embarrassment would be an understatement, especially in front of so many of his subjects.  The only thing that he had going for him was that many of the single women hoping in vain to become his bride in T’Pring’s place swooned and cried out every time he took a hit to show their concern for him – so that meant there was almost non-stop gasping and crying out and wailing of women because he got hit often.   

Jim, during one of the breaks of the sparring match, flung himself onto the bench.  There was one subject he didn’t see.  He blamed Sybok’s absence for his miserable display of physical prowess today.  Any visiting Vulcans had gathered around each other near his opponent’s bench, probably doing something illogical like cheer Klashausu Solen on while he kicked the Terran Prince’s ass. 

He looked around at the spectators of his humiliation and saw that everyone was chattering among themselves during the interim of the match.  That is, everyone except one young woman, who spoke to no one around her.  Her attention was riveted to Prince James, all of her energy and focus given to him.  Jim swallowed and looked down at his sore hands, flexing them and relaxing them to try to get them to stop aching. 

A hand thrust a small device over his hands, the whirring of the little gadget as annoying as always.  Jim smacked the hand that held the little device.  “Bones, my hands are fine.”

Captain McCoy ignored the irritated slap to his hand and kept scanning the reddened hands of the prince.  “Usually redness implies some kind of injury, Jim, not to mention you were just testing their stiffness.”

“Maybe it’s because I’m tense,” Jim growled at his guard and friend. 

“Because you’re getting your ass handed to you by a Vulcan twice your age?”

Jim saw the teasing glint in McCoy’s eyes, but he was in no mood to humor the man.  “I’m a little embarrassed,” he admitted.

McCoy snorted.  “Yeah, I would be, too, if I performed as pathetically as you are right now.”  He put the small scanner away, and brought out another device which he hovered over the prince’s right cheekbone, where he’d taken a solid hit just before the break in fighting. 

“You’re terrible at reassurance, you know that?”  Then the tiny regenerator was pressed into his cheek.  “Get that off my face,” he deadpanned.

“Do you want to look like you got attacked by a mob when you return home today?  Or when you resume your hunt for a spouse?”  They met eyes, Jim’s blazing in anxiety, McCoy’s steady with sympathy.  “Jim, you can’t keep doing this.  Your father will never let you take that Vulcan lord for a consort.”

“But I want him.  I’ve never felt more energized yet calm at the same time than with him.”  Jim’s lips formed a bittersweet smile.  “Except you, maybe.  You’re one of the few people who knows me, really knows me.” 

McCoy removed the regenerator from Jim’s cheek, put the device away, then looked at him seriously.  “Well, I’m sure not marrying you, Jim-boy.”

Jim smiled and chuckled to himself.  “I just meant that I want to be as open with whoever I end up marrying as I can be with you.  And I felt like that already, just a little, with him.”

McCoy frowned.  “You don’t have time to chase dreams, kid.  I know it’s not what you want to hear, but if he won’t meet you halfway and at least try to make arrangements to see you or meet with you then I think there are only two reasons for that.”  Jim looked at him and McCoy felt bad for being the one that was about to kill the hope in his young charge.  “He’s either not interested in you the way you are in him, or he’s scared of something bigger than you.”  He put a reassuring hand on the prince’s shoulder.  “But you only have a few days to find someone you can – maybe even want to – marry.  You don’t have the luxury or the time for a true courtship.”

“I know.”  Jim slumped but nodded.  “What do you suggest, then?”

“If you want someone unique, then I would look around you today, and pick the one that stands out in the crowd.  First person that catches your eye you talk to them, see if you’re first attracted to them, and go from there.”  It wasn’t his best advice and he knew it, but he wanted to help his friend.  In this moment, Jim was his friend, not his charge, and not his prince – just his friend. 

“Okay,” Jim agreed, raising his head and looking around the crowd as McCoy had advised.  She still gazed directly at him.  Their eyes met and then she smiled demurely at him.  “Okay.”  Jim stood and went to her. 

As Jim went towards the young woman, McCoy recognized her as the favored daughter of Viscount Marcus.  At least she was pretty enough for Jim.  But even McCoy knew that she would never enrapture Jim as easily, quickly, or deeply as that young male Vulcan. 

“Does Prince James often get hurt like that?” a timid voice asked from behind him. 

McCoy turned quickly to look for the woman who spoke to him.  People never spoke to him specifically.  He was just the prince’s guard, granted the Captain of the Guard, but still his personal guard.  He was only a shadow to the royal family’s subjects, never really there, never really seen.  It took him only a moment, however, to figure out who spoke to him.  She was the only person looking at him and not the prince.  He walked slowly to her – the saddened blonde daughter of Viscount Marcus.  He tried to recall her name, trying to remember.  “Nah, just a little clumsy sometimes,” he answered her question. 

She swallowed nervously, her eyes flittering everywhere like a frightened canary looking for a way to escape the cat.  “Accident prone, then,” she whispered. 

He came closer.  “I keep him looking pretty.”  This was awkward.  He had no idea what to do or to say.  Obviously she didn’t either by her silence.  However, she did have the courage to seek him out and begin a stunted conversation.  The least he could do was exactly what he’d criticized that Vulcan for not doing with Jim – meet the other person halfway. 

Suddenly, he remembered her name.  Carol.  Carol Marcus.  “Is it just Carol or do you have any other names?”

He remembered her name!  No one ever remembered who she was.  Everyone remembered Janice, but no one ever spared a second glance at her until this man, who’d nodded farewell only to her.  He remembered her name.  It hadn’t been a cruel jab at her.  He didn’t do it to mock her.  Carol couldn’t even begin to understand her own whirlwind of emotions in that moment.  But she knew that an overwhelming one was happiness, an emotion she hadn’t felt so abundantly since her father had told her that she and Janice would have a new mother.  She’d hoped that she would finally know what it was like to have a mother’s love.  She had known it very briefly with Lady Amanda, a very kind, sweet, and loving woman she had been overjoyed to call stepmother.  But she was torn from her just as she had been torn from Spock that horrible day, and with her went the happiness of both Spock and Carol.  She knew that Spock’s loss was immeasurably greater than hers, but she did understand some of his grief.  She had been devastated, too. 

Carol came out of her thoughts just as the guard was about to say something else.  Then, she realized she had never answered his question.  “Ann,” she said.  “Carol Ann Marcus.”

McCoy saw her retreat into her own thoughts for a moment and wondered if he’d scared her.  But when she finally answered him, he couldn’t help but smile.  He held out his hand, palm upturned.  “Well, Carol Ann Marcus, I am Leonard Horatio McCoy.” 

She stared at his waiting hand a moment, worrying her lower lip.  After a quick glance towards where her sister stood sultrily speaking with Prince James, and her father standing silent behind her, watching that conversation, Carol knew that their attention would not be on her.  It never was anyway.  Satisfied, for the first time in her non-existence to her family, Carol smiled sweetly at Leonard and placed her hand in his. 

He kept eye contact with her as he raised their hands to gently kiss the back of hers. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

It was another fine day for the market with clear weather and a warm breeze.  The sunlight felt glorious on Spock’s skin, warming him blissfully.  Moments like this made him feel like a child again – when something so simple as the warmth from the sun could make him so content.  But that contentment died as soon as he looked to the right and saw a familiar and imposing figure heading directly to where some of their harvest stood on display for potential buyers.  Spock’s head had been angled up to the sun, but at the sight of this male, he ducked his head and wished to be invisible. 

“Spock, the only Vulcan-Human hybrid in existence,” the bulky, decoratively armored Klingon purred in his guttural tone.  His voice was deep and gravelly, his language harsh, but he spoke it like a seducer.  It did not appeal to Spock.  “You grow more captivating with each season.”

Spock said nothing, he did nothing.  He only wondered where Natasha and Pike could be.  They had gone to the cart through the back flap of their pavilion to replenish some of the fruits.  Spock turned away from the Klingon, not willing to play this game with him today.  Not on this beautiful day.  He walked away several paces, fixing the gap between some of the crates of vegetables.

“How disappointing. Rudeness from a servant?” the Klingon asked in a way that clearly said he expected no answer.  The three companions surrounding him laughed throatily.  The Klingon followed him leisurely wherever Spock went about the tables set between them, keeping himself in Spock’s sight.  “You have heard of my involvement in the Galactic Warriors’ Tournament, I assume.”  He did not wait for Spock’s answer.  Spock had no intention of providing one anyway.  “Of course you have.  As one of the high sponsors and organizers, it is partly my responsibility to acquire an item with which to reward the victor, who is usually presented with a title of nobility, lands, and servants.”  Spock knew he meant slaves.  He also knew all of the information being told to him.  What he could not understand was why QumwI’ Hegh was re-informing him of it now. 

Spock looked up as the pavilion flap opened.  Pike and Natasha froze when they saw the Klingon near Spock.  He shook his head to them, telling them silently to remain where they were.  He only hoped that Pavel did not come out.  He would not put it past QumwI’ Hegh to abduct the boy. 

“And as you know,” Hegh continued as he came under the pavilion, the tables no longer between him and Spock.  “I always look for those estates and houses on the many planets I go to which seem to be enduring hard financial times.  I obtain servants for my victors, compensate the estate from which I find them accordingly for that servant’s removal, and give them a different life.”  Spock doubted that life was a better one.  “So, you see, Spock, I have an unusual amount of compassion for someone of my race, do I not?” Again, Spock did not answer.  He choked on his own voice when he tried.  A hand spun him while another latched onto his chin, forcing him to meet Hegh’s dark and cold eyes.  “I would expect more gratitude from someone like you, Vulcan.”

Finally, he found his voice.  “I would no sooner give you gratitude for tearing my home apart and thinking that an offering of money would ease that fracture.”

“Fracture, you say?”  Before Spock could even think of a reply, he was forcibly turned again and his upper body slammed hard onto the only open place of the table.  His arms were pulled straight out to the sides by two of Hegh’s companions and held there.   He looked up and saw identical horror on Pike and Natasha’s faces.  He silently tried to warn them to stay where they were, not to move, not to aid him.  Hegh’s fingers traced his spine through his clothing slowly before he took Spock’s hips in an unyielding grip.  “The money I gave to this pathetic estate has kept it alive all these years, Spock.  Kept you alive.”  He sighed.  “I lied, however, when I spoke of my compassion.  There is only one reason why I’ve kept my attention on your estate.”  QumwI’ Hegh came forward and pressed his clothed arousal against Spock, the implication clear as though he’d shouted it.  “Because even as a child your fire and dedication to your home was apparent.  And dealing with trafficked people for so long, I can say that a passionate Vulcan is a very rare commodity.  Too rare simply to give to a victor from a tournament.  It’s one I wanted for myself.  So I waited and watched you grow up until you might be ready for me.  And look at you now, such a pretty creature.”  He smiled when he felt Spock begin to tremble pinned there beneath him.  His companions laughed as they, too, felt Spock’s shaking.  Hegh draped himself over Spock, pressing harder against him, and spoke into his ear.  “Even though this Terran King has passed his new law, do not think it will save you if I wish to have you.  You will be my favorite of all my pets, one that I will enjoy very often.” 

Spock shuddered.  “I will be no one’s pet.”

Hegh chuckled deeply.  “Do not be so certain.  We Klingons are a territorial race, and I have staked my claim on you in this market, in public.  I will have you, Spock.”  Tightening his grip on Spock’s hips, QumwI’ Hegh rose up to stand and then emphasized each word with a harsh and hard thrust against Spock.  “I’ve waited twelve years for you.”  He pulled Spock hard against him, keeping the Vulcan immobile as he continued to move against him.  “You’re mine, no matter what a king may say.” 

He covered Spock’s body with his own again only to take the nape of Spock’s neck between his teeth and bite hard.  It was the only time Spock cried out. 

QumwI’ Hegh and his companions released him abruptly and turned away.  Spock didn’t – couldn’t – move from the table he’d been bent over and assaulted upon.  When Natasha helped him to sit on one of the stools, Pike was there at his side brushing his hair away from the back of his neck.  “Not bleeding, but you’ll bruise.”  Pike was glad Spock tended to heal quickly. 

“Horrible creature,” Natasha seethed.  “Are you alright?”

Spock nodded silently. He was glad that he did not face the other vendors, all of whom could not possibly have missed what had just happened to him.  “Did Pavel witness it?”

“No,” she said.  “I kept the flap closed.”

“Thank you,” Spock whispered.  He grimaced as Pike opened the jar of aloe salve, intending to rub some on his neck.  He disliked the scent aloe.  “I am well, Christopher.  There is no need.” 

Pike ran his fingers through Spock’s long, loose hair, brushing away the stray baby strands tenderly.  “I’m so sorry, Spock.”  He meant so much more than for what had just occurred.

“I am well,” Spock tried to reassure him.  “It is fine.”

Pike knew Spock hated the word fine.  Whenever he used it, it was a clear indication that something was not, indeed, fine.  He sighed, and then leaned down enough to press a paternal kiss to Spock’s forehead.  “I’ll do better for you next time.  I promise.”

Spock realized of what Pike was truly speaking.  QumwI’ Hegh had purchased Pike only days ago, and Spock had risked his own life to save him from that fate.  Yet, Pike, when Hegh sexually and physically assaulted Spock, could do nothing but freeze in shock and terror even though Spock did not wish for assistance.  Spock lowered his head, offering his injured neck to Pike and the aloe juice.  When he began to apply it, Spock could almost feel Pike’s guilt, the self-proclaimed cowardice, overwhelming gratitude, and most of all the love the human man had for him.

What he did not see was the hateful glare Pike sent towards Hegh’s departing party.  After what he’d seen, Pike knew he would do anything – even risk his own life as Spock had – to protect Lady Amanda’s son, to keep that Klingon away from him.  He would be unable to live with himself if he were to do otherwise. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

He’d made the arrangements the night before after his impromptu lunch with Sybok in the afternoon, convincing himself that the Vulcan would come to the match.  Granted, the only benefit of Sybok not attending was that he did not see Jim get completely thrashed and humiliated.  He smiled to himself as he imagined that Sybok would most likely not had found fault in his performance – but point out that he had been foolish to take on a sparring partner that clearly held the advantage over him for a public display.  His smile faltered as he looked to his companion walking beside him.

There was nothing displeasing about Lady Janice – she was beautiful, she spoke well and sweetly, she smiled prettily, she had wonderful manners.  But she wasn’t who he really wanted walking beside him.  His plans for what came after his match did not involve a woman at all, no matter who it was, but a young, fiery, intense Vulcan.  He smiled back at Janice, but he knew it did not show in his eyes.  He just hoped that she couldn’t tell the difference yet in his smiles.

Her father and two of Jim’s guards and attendants walked just behind them.  While he didn’t feel uncomfortable near Janice, he felt like Viscount Marcus stabbed the back of his head with his eyes.  He clearly was a protective father, and Jim found it strange that he should be a little intimidated by a lower noble than of his own father, the king.  If Jim chose to wed Janice, the Viscount would need to understand that he had no place to tell him how to conduct himself with her from that point on, father or not.

McCoy walked behind Viscount Marcus and Jim’s attendants and guards.  The Viscount walked between the attendants and guards anyway, so Jim wasn’t likely to come to harm from the man.  And if he so much as made a move McCoy would be on the Viscount, nobleman or not, immediately.  Carol, forgotten by her father, walked behind the Viscount and the attendants, her head lowered.  It had been another reason why McCoy had lingered in the back of the party.  Carol had been the last in the procession, and that was unacceptable to McCoy to leave her on her own, vulnerable and unprotected.  He’d seen her glance worriedly at her father during the entire conversation they’d had at the sparring match, as though she would be admonished for speaking to anyone.  So, when he saw he walking alone, McCoy drifted to the rear discreetly and silently offered her his arm in escort.  Just as she’d done when he’d acknowledged only her in front of the house, and when he called her by her name earlier, her entire face glowed in joyful gratitude.  He could not hold back his own tiny smile at that.

But even McCoy could see Jim’s tension and distraction.  He knew he was still dwelling on Sybok.  He needed to stop that, needed to focus on reality and not what he foolishly desired in some fantasy-world.  Jim and Sybok could never be.  Perhaps had Sam not abdicated Jim could have had the freedom to wed Sybok as he would have had no pressure to provide heirs for the Terran Royalty.  But Sam did abdicate, and that responsibility belonged to Jim now.  It left no room for romance, only duty.

One of the prince’s attendants came forward and held out a small dish to him.  The conversation had halted between him and Janice.  He’d instructed his attendants to fill that silence with presenting some sort of diversion, usually a drink or a small snack.  He gratefully took the small plate, and began speaking before he looked at what it contained.  “Here, my lady, you’ve never had anything so—”  He’d been about to use the word delicious, but then he changed it as he saw what was on the dish.  “—foreign.”  Even though his attendant had wonderful timing, the boy clearly lacked in intelligence.  He’d planned this for Sybok, planned to present this delicacy to him in the hopes of endearing himself to the Vulcan. 

He’d finally mastered his cowardice and sought out Miss Uhura’s help in several Vulcan customs.    He’d asked her about pre-marriage rituals, if they existed, and what they were.  She’d looked at him suspiciously, but had graciously cooperated and answered his questions.  And so, he had made preparations for Sybok and a zahv-tor t’skamaya ritual immediately.  It was commonly used by a suitor to declare an intention of courtship, wherein a morsel of food was fed to the one that the suitor hoped would accept.  In order to indicate acceptance, tradition required that the one being made the offer would eat the delicacy directly from the fingers of the suitor.  Jim suspected that his suit would be welcomed by Sybok, and the Vulcan would have responded appropriately by feeding Jim one of the bites to indicate that he held similar regard for Jim.  But Sybok had not been at the match, and his attendant didn’t switch the food item when Jim walked without the accompaniment of a Vulcan, which left him no choice but to present it to Lady Janice, a person he suspected would never appreciate it or its significance –especially as Jim had substituted the Vulcan fruit typically used with this offering with a strawberry. 

She didn’t even look at what was on the plate, her attention solely on him.  Then, her lips parted expectantly.  She wanted him to feed her.  Jim quickly glanced around just to make sure that there were no Vulcans nearby that would possibly be insulted at him using one of their revered customs on another human.  She had no idea that she was inadvertently mocking Vulcan courtship rituals.  Satisfied at seeing no Vulcans around, Jim picked up one of the morsels and fed it to Janice, unable to stop thinking how very wrong in that moment that it was her. 

Janice moaned quietly around the small bite of food the prince had fed her, but it was only for show.  She had no idea what he’d given her, but she disliked the strange combination of flavors.  Her chewing masked the grimace, her moan further hiding it. 

Jim swallowed nervously.  Janice’s reaction to the food gave him no clues.  He popped one of the delicacies into his mouth, stalling for time.  He had tasted it before deciding upon the strawberry version – just to be sure it wouldn’t be disgusting with the favinit.  It was not.  He actually enjoyed it.  He had no idea, though, if Janice did in that moment.  “Do you like it?”

Janice moaned quietly again in reply before she actually used words.  “I do like it, Highness.  It seems so simple.  What is it?”  She knew it was bread.  She’d have to be a moron not to know it was bread.  But she still could not recognize that strange flavor in it. 

Jim smiled.  She liked something he liked.  It was a good start, he supposed.  He answered her as he turned to hand the dish back to his attendant.  “Warmed strawberry bread with Vulcan favinit butter.”

  Janice frowned, thinking of Spock for an instant, unpleasantly.  She’d wanted to enjoy her day with the prince in peace without being reminded of Spock’s existence, but here was the prince feeding her a _Vulcan_ food?  Disgusting.  By the time the prince turned back to her, though, her smile shined on her face.  What he didn’t know would never hurt him.

McCoy watched as the attendant turned away with the dish.  Glancing to his side he saw the open curiosity in Carol’s gaze.  Before she could even think of any sort of consequences, she broke away from his escorting arm to investigate the food item on that little dish.  As she reached toward one of them, Viscount Marcus grabbed her arm in a tight hold.  “Those were for Janice, not for you,” he hissed.  “Don’t even think about it.”

Carol wilted instantly and stood still as the party continued along the road, looking at her father sadly.  McCoy stormed up to the attendant and snatched the plate from him.  He went back to Carol and stood before her, trying to rein in his anger at the Viscount.  He didn’t want her to be afraid of him too.  “Lady Marcus,” he began, but stopped as he saw her grimace.  Apparently, she didn’t like that form of address.  He came closer and with his free index finger raised her chin so he could look at her.  “My lady,” he tried again, this time earning him a quick succession of blinks as she held back tears.  “My lady,” he repeated it, softening his voice.  “I won’t deny you.  Try one.”

She looked at the bite-sized items on the dish.  “I don’t know what it is,” she said.  “I was just curious.”

McCoy nodded.  “Well, I don’t know what it is either, except that I think I heard Jim say strawberry and bread somewhere in there.”  He offered her a gentle smile.  “How bad can that be?  I think even Jim likes it.”  He took one and shoved it into his mouth, chewing experimentally. 

Carol smiled at him and took one of the morsels, nibbling it.  “It’s not…”  She was trying to figure out how to admit her undecided opinion. 

McCoy frowned as though in agreement.  “I think another sample would help.” 

Carol giggled as they both reached for a second piece at the same time.  McCoy smiled at her as they both chewed.  They silently agreed to finish off the rest, smiling at each other as they caught up to the rest of their party. 

Jim, meanwhile, was having some difficulty in finding something to talk about with Janice.  She responded well enough to him, but seemed to have difficulty in initiating a topic of conversation.  He remembered that she didn’t really say anything when he’d returned the horse either.  Maybe she was just shy. 

He blurted the first thing he could think of as he observed the market.  “Does your family own any of these tents?”

Janice smiled sweetly.  “Yes.  Would you like me to show you which, Highness?”

“Yes,” he said.  Hopefully if she were around something familiar, she would be able to talk a little more.  Maybe he should ask questions.  “What do you sell in the market?” 

As she spoke, they passed many people he recognized from court.  He would have greeted some of them, but it would have seemed rude to interrupt Janice, especially when she finally began to open up.  As they passed a certain party of four Klingons, Jim heard something that disgusted him. 

“When I finally have him, I’ll ride him every night.”

“Hard, too, I’m sure.”  The others laughed. 

“He’s kept me waiting too long, and for that I’ll make him bleed.”

“Then, we all get to enjoy him?”

Jim needed to see who would talk about another like that.  He knew what they meant – sexual slavery, rape.  How could anyone blatantly announce their intention to commit something so horrific in public?  Did they think themselves above the king’s laws?  He saw the obvious leader, heavily decorated in armor, lash out and grab the Klingon to last speak by the throat.  Then, Jim recognized him.  QumwI’ Veqlargh Hegh, the Governor of Kronos.  “He’s mine.  Only I’ll make him scream, and cry, and beg me to stop.  Touch my prize, and you lose the hand that touched him.”

Their party had passed them too far to hear anything else, but it was more than enough for Jim.  He decided immediately that he would have QumwI’ Hegh tracked, followed, constantly monitored on Terra.  If he dared to do what he’d boasted, he would find himself in a cell and his victim would come under Jim’s own protection.  He finally began truly to understand Sybok’s passion and anger regarding the purchase of servants.  With only the little he heard of how someone spoke of another sentient being, Jim felt sickened that such a person was permitted in his father’s court. 

“Your Highness, are you alright?” Janice asked. 

Obviously, his anger and offense was obvious on his expression.  “I was distracted.  I’m sorry, Lady Janice.”

“Royal matters pressing on your mind?” she asked flirtatiously.

She had no idea.  “Yes,” Jim responded.  “Royal matters.”  He cleared his throat.  “You’ll have to repeat some things.”

She smiled patiently at him.  “I was asking if you would like to see our pavilion today.”

Jim nodded and smiled, knowing that it didn’t reach his eyes again.  She didn’t seem to notice, as she curled her hand around his arm, forcing him to escort her.  Janice actually did the escorting, though. 

Natasha stood under the pavilion with Pavel as they helped each other separate some of their fruit harvest and put them into sale baskets according to weight.  She looked up after she placed one of them onto the vending table and saw His Highnes, Prince James, approaching with Janice on his arm and the Viscount behind them.  She tensed for only a moment, before she turned and whispered harshly to her son.  “Pav, tell Spock to stay behind that flap with your father.  Take something with you!” 

“Why?”  Then he saw them, too.  “He knows who I am.”  The prince had seen him before.  He thought he was Spock’s servant.  If he should see him here and recognize him—

“Then, all of you stay away!  We won’t give him away like this!”

Pavel nodded, then snatched up an empty bucket, and headed through the back flap of the pavilion.  He saw his father with Spock, the latter lying face-down on a bench, his shirt pulled up and his trousers down just enough so that the bruises on his hips were exposed.  Pavel’s father applied the potent-slimy juices of an aloe-based salve to the discoloration patiently.  Pavel walked right up them. 

“I told you to stay out there with your mother, Pav,” his father said. 

“She sent me back here.”

That got him a suspicious look from his father.  “Why?  What’s going on?”

“The prince is coming over.”

Spock gasped and turned to look at Pavel with wide eyes, and then started to rise.  “No, he mustn’t see me.  He can’t see—”

Pike pushed him back down onto the bench.  “He won’t see you, Spock.  Just keep quiet.”  He looked at his son.  “Is that why she sent you back here?”

Pavel nodded.  “She’s the only one the prince has never seen yet.”

Pike nodded.  “Okay,” he whispered.  “Everybody stay quiet.  Maybe we can sneak away for a moment.  That way if the Viscount comes back here looking, we won’t be here.”  He looked down to Spock.  “You okay to go?”

Spock nodded.  “Yes.”  He slid silently from the bench, fixing his clothing.  As Pike grabbed all of their jackets, and Pavel put away the aloe salve, Spock found his attention riveted to the slit in the pavilion’s flap.  He approached it, knowing he risked discovery, knowing it was dangerous.  But he wanted to see him, just for a moment.  Without touching the flap, Spock peered through the tiny gap in it. 

Prince James smiled at Natasha and politely asked what sort of crops she was selling.  Natasha answered smoothly.  “You have a wide variety of fruits,” he observed.  Janice straightened in pride and said something in response, but Spock didn’t pay attention to her.  He watched only the prince.

Jim looked over the fruits and vegetables on the Marcus servant’s table.  “What’s your name?” he asked the servant.  She seemed surprised by the question, but she answered it.  “Well, Natasha,” he said her name purposefully.  “I think I might buy some fruits from you today.” 

“Anything we have is yours, Your Highness,” Viscount Marcus said from behind the prince.  “You need not pay for it, as is your privilege.”

Jim sighed and shook his head.  He wanted to pay for it.  But then a single remaining basket of fruit caught his eye. 

Spock watched through the slit as the prince looked at the last basket of strawberries on their table.  He reached out to touch the red flesh of the topmost fruit.  “You grow strawberries,” he said quietly.  Slowly, a fond smile formed on the prince’s face.  “I love strawberries.”

A hand on his shoulder pulled him away from the pavilion flap.  “Come on, Spock,” Pike whispered.  “We have to go, or we risk you getting found out.  Come on.”  Reluctantly, Spock allowed Pike to pull him away from the pavilion, the image of the prince smiling at his strawberries in his mind.


	7. A Disregard for Duty

“You feel vindicated, don’t you?” Prince James laughingly asked McCoy as they set out that morning.  Montgomery Scott had tested his transporter revisions last night for Their Majesties using a grapefruit and it had gone well.  He’d managed to beam it all the way to the surface of Saturn’s moon, Enceladus, and back.  The wealthiest nobles had been in attendance, so that he may convince them into funding such ventures as developing further transporter technology.  There had been the skeptical and the reluctant – those closely associated with the shuttle manufacturers and developers – and the intrigued and curious – those who believed attaching their names to projects that would outdo their colleagues worthwhile.  Among those was Duke Jonathan Archer, who volunteered one of his beagles as a test subject, with the challenge of beaming a live creature as well as the grapefruit.  If he had succeeded, then funding would at the very least come from the Duke.  It was to take place in the morning with the prince in attendance.

 Leonard knew it was a bad idea – transporter systems were a bad idea.  “I wouldn’t say vindicated.  I actually wanted Mister Scott to succeed and prove a skeptic like me wrong.”  Scotty had nervously accepted the docile beagle pup, prepared it for transport with a tracking device, and input the formula with shaking fingers, asking if the Duke wanted the dog to remain on this planet.  The nobleman replied that he preferred his dog to remain alive when he beamed back – an unsaid threat in the words.  It only made Scotty more nervous.  But he’d done it, anyway.  But couldn’t get the dog back.  It disappeared!  Montgomery Scott had been escorted to his chambers in the palace by guards.  It had been more for the engineer’s safety than for a punishment.  Duke Archer screamed with rage, shouting that this nobody killed his dog!

Jim had come forward and defended his Scottish friend.  He promised to search for the beagle personally.  It had a tracking device – it should be simple to find.  At least he hoped it would be simple.  But just in case, he decided to take McCoy with him.  But this required different transportation than his usual horse.  He wanted something else.  Something faster.  He had things to do today – like spend time with his potential bride.  He couldn’t waste his entire day looking for a dog. 

So he managed to convince McCoy to get out a pair of hoverbikes.  They had tracking and navigation systems.  They’d find the dog and be back in time for Jim’s outing with Janice with plenty of time to spare.  Jim, however, was certainly glad that he’d agreed to meet her – and he begrudgingly permitted her hovering father – in town, instead of coming to escort her.  It had been Viscount Marcus’s idea.  This at least allowed Jim to be fashionably late and arrive at his pleasure. 

Jim smiled to himself.  Maybe they could take their time finding Duke Archer’s damned dog.  He started his bike, enjoying the rumbling hum.  “Ready, Bones?”

McCoy had just finished lashing the small cage for the dog to the back of his own bike.  He looked up at Jim.  “Where the hell’s your helmet?”

Jim rolled his eyes.  “Come on!  I am not wearing a helmet!” 

McCoy threw one at him.  “You only wanted these so you can go fast.  Well, guess what!  Going fast is when bad things happen!  And since I’m in charge of your safety, Your Highness,” McCoy said the title sarcastically, “you’re wearing the helmet.”  For further emphasis, he roughly jammed his own onto his head. 

Jim put the helmet on.  “How did you get so paranoid?”

“You’ll thank me for that paranoia one day!” McCoy shot back as he started his own bike.  “Where to, Jim?” he asked, the microphone in the helmet picking up his voice. 

Jim smiled as McCoy’s question sounded in his ears.  He looked down at the readout for the tracking on the dog.  Thankfully, it wasn’t terribly far.  “Follow me,” ordered, then brought his bike into the air, hovering off the ground until the bike was about the standing height of a young foal, and then pressed the gas, heading off after a disappeared dog. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Hikaru Sulu knelt in the soil, working the plants and enjoying every second of it.  He loved the smell of dirt, the feel of dirt, the value of dirt.  He looked up at his work for the day, pleased with how the young New Zealand flax plants were doing so far.  They only came up to his knee now, but he was certain they would be glorious once their sword-like leaves matured better. 

He heard someone shouting and approaching his location from the other side of the privacy shrubs he’d just pruned.  Dread filled him when he heard the sound of someone running.  No.  Something running.  He stood, brushed his hands on his apron and walked hurriedly to the hedges, hoping to stop whatever might happen. 

He never made it in time. 

A small creature burst through the hedges, somehow avoiding getting stabbed in the eye with a small branch in the process.  Sulu was so surprised that he stumbled backwards, windmilling his arms to stay on his feet.  “Stop it, Sulu!” the boy shouted at him.  “Get it!” 

He looked towards the old split rail fence, seeing Pavel Chekov-Pike climbing over it.  The boy, like himself, was not the best of climbers.  “When did you get a pet?” Hikaru asked.

“Not mine!  Found it,” Pavel shouted at him.  “Get him!”

Hikaru sighed as he turned to where he’d seen the creature dash, only to find that it had dug a hole next to one of his flax plants, and was hunkered down.  “No!” he shouted at the small dog.  “Bad!  Bad dog!  Not my plants!”

By then, Pavel had gotten over the fence between their manors’ properties and came to stand beside Sulu.  “I thought fertilizer is good for plants.”  Sulu hung his head and sighed.

They waited for the dog to finish its business before Pavel snatched the animal up in his arms and held it against him.  Sulu moodily stalked to the assaulted plant and – thankful that he had gloves on – took up what the dog left behind, stalked to the fence, and flung it into the area of woods that ran between the properties.  When he returned to his garden, he almost fell over in shock!

Prince James and a guard stood in his garden!  They spoke to Pavel – who somehow managed to genuflect to the prince while keeping a grip on the dog.  He rushed over to his young friend and threw himself to the ground, the proper way to acknowledge royalty.  On the ground, face down to the dirt, hands flat.  “Your Highness, I had no idea you were here.  My apologies!”

“It’s fine, I was just asking this boy about the dog he has.”

“He was just—”

Pavel interrupted.  “I found it, Your Highness.”

“Well, it just so happens that I’ve been searching for that troublesome little guy most of my morning.”

Pavel actually laughed.  “I hope he didn’t give you too much of a chase, Highness.”  Sulu was horrified that Pavel would joke with royalty.  Their class just didn’t do that sort of thing.  They answered when spoken to, but otherwise shut their mouths. 

“I’m just glad it’s over,” mumbled the guard accompanying the prince.  Hikaru dared to look up and saw the man opening a small cage.  “Let’s see if we can shove the bastard in this.”

The prince’s boots were close enough to his head that he could see the dirt on them.  “Rise,” he commanded him.  Hikaru jumped to his feet.  “What’s your name?”

“Hikaru Sulu, Your Highness.”

The prince nodded then looked around Sulu’s garden, taking in his work.  “Do you do all this yourself?”  Sulu nodded.  The prince nodded back.  “It’s impressive.” 

It occurred to Hikaru that the prince was struggling to make small talk as he waited for his guard to contain the dog.  Only after that realization did he notice how strange the behavior actually was for the prince.  He’d never heard of him making idle chatter with the peasantry before.  Then, again, Sulu never really went many places, so he couldn’t know with any authority what constituted normal behavior for a prince. 

The prince looked down at the boy and guard struggling to get the squirming dog into the cage.  At that moment, Jim’s eyes widened.  “I know you,” he said, the surprise obvious in his voice.  “You’re the boy that I fell over in the river.  You—”  He felt his heart beat faster.  “You know Sybok.”  He went to his knees by Pavel.  “I have to find him again.  Tell me where he’s staying.”

Pavel looked worried, terrified.  McCoy, having finally succeeded in his task, slammed the cage door shut, ignoring the whimpering of the puppy.  “Jim, don’t do this.”

Jim shook his head, irritated, then grabbed Pavel’s shoulders.  “Where is he?”

Pavel tried desperately to come up with a lie, anything.  But he didn’t know other noble houses or families.  He couldn’t even make up a name.  But he couldn’t lie to royalty, especially when he had no lie to give.  “I believe he is staying with a family friend.”

“Yes, he said that much before,” Jim encouraged the boy. 

Pavel looked up at Sulu, who slowly shook his head.  Pavel knew it was dangerous, he knew that if the Viscount ever found out about it, his family would suffer – Spock included.  He only hoped that the Viscount, Janice, and Carol had already left for town by now.  If they hadn’t, he knew his words would be as bad as a death sentence for them.  But he also knew that Spock liked the prince.  He could tell from how he blushed the day by the river, and then even more yesterday at the market when Spock didn’t want to leave.  Pavel knew Spock liked Prince James.  He looked at the prince and saw the same expression on his face that Spock had when he’d looked through the slit in their pavilion’s flap.  The Prince liked Spock.  “The Viscount Alexander Marcus.”  He hoped they weren’t home.

“Damnit, Jim, don’t you think that’s a hell of a problem?” the guard growled. 

The prince’s face fell in thoughtful disappointment.  How could he possibly do this?  “It’s a bit of an issue, yeah,” he admitted.

“A bit of an issue?” the guard repeated.  “You realize you’re setting up that Viscount’s daughter as your bride, right?”  Jim sighed, and looked at Pavel hopelessly.  “I know you want that Vulcan, Jim, but you can’t go around carrying on with someone else from that house behind everyone’s backs!”

“I—”  The prince’s eyes shot back to Pavel’s face, focusing intently on the boy’s voice.  Pavel knew that Spock and this prince liked each other.  It was all he needed to know.  “I know that he is at the house now.”

Jim remembered the Viscount’s arrangement – that they would meet in town.  “Is he alone?” he asked hopefully.  Pavel nodded quickly.  The prince’s face transformed with his smile.  “Thank you,” he said.  He laughed to himself, then got to his feet.  “Are you sure?”

“Your Highness,” the guard said, claiming the prince’s attention.  “You’re supposed to meet Lady Janice today in town.  Or did you forget that?”

“No, I didn’t.  I’m just—”  The prince didn’t finish the sentence aloud.  _Choosing not to go,_ he finished in his mind.  He looked back to Pavel.  “You’re sure he’s alone?”

Pavel wasn’t sure, but he knew that the likelihood of Spock being alone at this moment was high, especially if the guard seemed to believe Janice wasn’t at the house.  If she wasn’t there, then neither were the Viscount and Carol.  He smiled and nodded. 

“Thank you,” the prince said, then turned away and jogged energetically from the garden.  His guard followed him, trying to convince him to stick with his arrangement to meet Janice. 

Hikaru turned to Pavel.  He knew he told him with his eyes very clearly what he needed to do.  Pavel smiled at him, then turned and ran off back towards Grayson Manor.  Only later did Sulu remember that Pavel did not need to climb the fence – he’d leaped over it. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Spock was in the kitchens, tying up some herbs so that they could hang for drying.  Pike was there with him, helping him to separate the varieties and bundle them together.  Suddenly the door burst open from outside and Pavel came running in.  “Spock!  The prince!  Coming here!”  The rosemary fell from Spock’s dirt-covered hands. 

Pike was quicker to react.  He put his herb bundle down and came around the table, grabbed Spock’s arms and asked his son, “How far behind is he?”

“He was at Sulu’s garden, but I hopped the fence and—”

“Natasha!” Pike bellowed, hoping his wife would hear him.  To his son, he gave quick instructions.  “She’s upstairs.  Have her grab an outfit, and bring it down.  I’ll get Spock cleaned up and meet her.  Go!”  Pavel took off running up the stairs. 

Spock hadn’t moved from where he stood.  Pike had to bodily shove him towards the waiting sink.  “Get your hands and face clean at the least.  They’ll be the first thing he sees.” 

Spock trembled as he complied and washed his hands, shaking as he tried to get the dirt out from under his short nails.  “How did he find me?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Pike answered.  “He did and now he’s coming to see you.”

Spock began to breathe faster, he felt his heart flutter in his side.  Pike wet a towel and scrubbed it along his face and neck.  He brushed aside the hair at the nape of his neck to check him.  “Still bruised.  Be careful he doesn’t see it.”

Pike brought Spock up the stairs and to the main floor of the house.  Natasha was coming down the stairs with clothing draped over her arm.  “Strip, Spock!” she said, urgently.  “He could be here any minute.  I have Pav watching from upstairs.”  Spock couldn’t move.  He couldn’t even protest as Pike pulled his well-worn shirt from his body to slip on the silken garment of a nobleman.  “Back up a little, dear,” Natasha said, pulling on his shoulders so that she could reach his long hair.  “It won’t be as nice as the other day, but it’s better than loose and everywhere.”  Spock ignored harsh brushing and the pain of her tugging on his hair to get it to cooperate.  “I don’t have time to do any of the knots.  This will have to do.”  She brushed his hair long, then took two front pieces from either side of his head and brought them behind to tie them together.  She repeated this twice more, creating a simple and pleasing style of three trailing V’s in his hair.  “It still covers up what that bastard did to you.” 

Pike had managed to pull a long, dark brown, leather overcoat onto Spock, then came around to secure the clasp at the sternum and tie the closings that ran along the right side of the garment.  Spock tried to assist and tie the topmost one, but his hands were slapped away.  “Leave it open,” Pike said, folding back the fabric to show the opposite side of the garment, which was a dark, forest green. 

“Why are you doing this?” Spock asked in a shaking voice. 

“Son, I was there yesterday,” Pike answered.  Spock didn’t need him to say more of the incident.  “I know you like this prince, and the fact that he’s coming to see you when he’d made arrangements with the Viscount to be with Janice today says a great deal about where he wants to be.”  Spock barely even noticed that Natasha was pulling his own trousers from his body and helping him into the Viscount’s clothing.  “With you.  I’d take any punishment given to me if it meant that you could maybe have a chance at happiness.”

Spock took Natasha’s hint and fastened the trousers while she jammed his feet into proper riding boots.  He knew they were not quite the right size, but he would make do.  “I have lied to him.  How can I ask him to trust me now?”

“Then tell him the truth.”

Spock shook his head.  “It is not possib—”

Pavel came barreling down the stairs.  “He’s just come through the gate.”

Pike framed Spock’s face with his hands.  “Listen to me.  You deserve better than this life.  Tell him the truth and you could be happy with him, or stay silent and you’ll be stuck here in what is your house by right.  Stay silent and you won’t escape Hegh again.  I’d rather die than see him hurt you.”  He tried to smile at Spock, but he knew it barely passed for one.  “Don’t be afraid to soar above this world, Spock.” 

There was a knock on the door.  “He’s here,” Spock gasped. 

Natasha smiled gently at him.  “So, go to him.”  The door chime sounded. 

Spock, even out of breath from his reeling emotions, gathered his dignity and went to the door, took a deep breath and looked back.  He saw Pike and Natasha standing together, smiling encouragingly at him.  Pavel waved excitedly.  Spock gave them a tiny smile, then he opened the door. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Jim bounced excitedly on his toes after he knocked on the thick door.  He took a deep breath, ran his hand through his hair, and tried to at least stop bouncing.  He reached for the door chime instead, letting the merry melody of the chime wash over him.  Nothing happened.  Usually he never waited at anyone’s door.  He smiled fondly.  Perhaps Sybok was playing with him, teasing him.  He was about to reach for the chime again when the door opened.  At the sight of him, Jim’s chest tightened and he felt nearly out of breath.  “Sybok,” he breathed the name.  “So this is where you’ve hidden yourself away.”

Only one sentence and Jim made green blossom on Sybok’s cheeks.  He smiled, pleased that he could induce such a response in the Vulcan.  “I thought it best,” he said, quietly.

Jim nodded understandingly, letting his eyes wander over the property.  “I can see why.”  He didn’t want to talk about Janice Marcus.  He knew that somewhere during the early afternoon, just near the time he had arranged to meet with Janice, the celebrations for a marriage festival would begin.  He would have thought that everyone would be out in town and public celebrating the impending nuptials of Prince James and – whoever he chose, either – Lady Janice of Terra or T’Sai T’Pring of Vulcan.  He should be in attendance.  After all, the marriage festival was definitely in his honor as the groom, even if the bride had yet to be determined.  But he had no desire to be anywhere else than standing on the threshold of this manor’s house.  “You shouldn’t have had to.” 

He could either stay here in this house with Sybok, spend the day this way but leave again hopefully before Viscount Marcus and his daughters returned, or convince Sybok to venture out of his hiding place.  Where would they go if they left?  He had no idea.  Perhaps if he asked.  “Did you not have plans to attend the festival in town?”

Spock tensed.  “Busy areas in town do not agree with me.”  Lies, again.  Spock’s guilt rose with every lie he told.  There was no way he could go.  He was lucky enough that he would be permitted to attend the masque.  But the days-long festival was out of the question – especially with so much work to be done here.  His sense of duty warred with his desire.  He should stay here and find an excuse to dismiss the prince to return to his duties, but he very much wanted nothing more than to leave his childhood home to anywhere the prince asked him to go.  At that moment, Spock knew that if Prince James asked him to leave this doorstep, he would without hesitation. 

“Because of your telepathy?” the prince asked.  “Are you stronger than other Vulcans?”

Spock had no idea.  Finally, he did not have to lie.  He had not been around many Vulcans at all.  “I do not know.  I have not had many opportunities for comparison.”

Jim nodded.  Why would Sybok feel so disconnected from his own people?  There clearly was information that he lacked about Sybok, and every new piece of information puzzled and fascinated him a little more.  “So you’ve mainly lived among humans?”

Spock nodded.  “Yes.”  He suddenly realized that he had neglected something very important.  “Your Highness,” he added, hurriedly.

The prince only laughed.  He’d been strangely pleased to learn that Sybok disliked crowded public places.  It meant that he would not object to a more private setting.  That idea made Jim smile.  He had an idea.  He turned back to McCoy.  “Bones, I won’t need your services today.”

“You serious, Jim?”  As though it agreed with the guard, the beagle pup yipped. 

“If you could go into town and make up some excuse to Lady Janice and her family – I don’t even care what it is – I’d very much appreciate it.”

McCoy grumbled in his seat of his hoverbike.  “What if you run into trouble somewhere?”

Jim chuckled.  “I can handle it.”

His friend and guard looked at him doubtfully.  “Really?  You just had your ass handed to you in that sparring match.  I’m having a hard time believing you could stand your ground.”

Jim looked at Spock in affronted disbelief.  “He paints such a capable picture of me, doesn’t he?”

“He cares for your safety.  I would not begrudge him that.”

The prince’s expression softened.  Then, he turned back to McCoy.  “We’ll be fine.  I promise, Bones.”

“You won’t run off like him?”  Both men knew he spoke of Jim’s abdicated brother, Sam.  Jim shook his head in answer.  “You’ll return at a decent time?”  Jim nodded this time.  McCoy huffed then tossed a small object at the prince.  “You check in every couple of hours, okay?” 

“Okay.”  Jim tucked it into the pouch hanging from his belt. 

McCoy looked with dread to Jim’s mode of transportation.  “Please tell me you’re taking horses.”

Jim grinned wickedly at McCoy, but he spoke to Spock.  “Sybok, have you ever ridden on a hoverbike?”  Spock did not have time to answer.  His frightened yet intrigued expression was all the answer Jim needed.  “We’re taking the bike, Bones.”

McCoy groaned.  “In that case,” he said as he removed his own helmet, then tossed it to Jim, who easily caught it.  “You better take that.  I know you’ll just give yours to him since you hate it so much.  But knowing Vulcans and their logic, he’ll probably insist that you wear it since you’re the damn prince.  And if you both can’t decide, then neither of you would wear one.  So, now you both have no choice!  You’re both wearing the damn things!”

Spock, despite the gruff manner of his delivery, decided that he rather liked the prince’s guard.  He cared for the prince deeply, and not because it was his responsibility as a guard.  They were friends.  “He is most insistent, Highness.”

Jim sighed dramatically.  “You have no idea.” 

McCoy shook his head.  “So, don’t tell me where you’re going, so I don’t have to risk letting it slip to the people you were supposed to meet today!  But I’ll make up some excuse for you.  You’re welcome.” 

“Thank you, Bones,” Jim said.  He knew that McCoy wanted him to do his duty and find a bride, but he also knew that his friend knew how much he wanted the Vulcan standing behind him, how much happier he felt near him.  He just wanted to be happy during the last few days before his father forced him into a marriage that he didn’t want unless the one at his side was Sybok.  He already knew it – from the day by the river, he knew it. 

“Enjoy today, Your Highness, My Lord.”  McCoy nodded to Spock.   “Keep him out of trouble.”  Spock nodded to the guard.  “And Jim, don’t make me regret leaving you behind like this.  Stay safe.” 

“I will.”  With a last, decisive nod, Captain McCoy started his hoverbike, turned it, and slowly, carefully left Grayson Manor.  After he left the gate of the property, Jim turned back to Spock.  “Shall we?”

Spock smiled at the prince and stepped out of the house.  Jim mounted his bike and slid forward a little.  “Come on up behind me.”  This had not been what Spock had prepared for when Natasha got his feet into the riding boots.  He’d expected horses.  But this was something he most certainly could not prepare to experience. 

“You are certain?”

The prince had already secured the helmet onto his head.  “Better put yours on, too.  Come here.”

Accustomed to obedience, Spock did as the prince asked.  Prince James carefully set the helmet onto Spock’s head and fastened it securely.  Then he laughed softly.  “This looks ridiculous on you.” 

“It is for both of our protection.  It does not flatter you, either.” 

Jim only laughed again.  “Get on, Sybok.” 

Spock assumed it was not terribly unlike mounting a horse.  He swung his leg over and tried to settle himself astride the bike.  The prince seemed to be waiting for something before he started the vehicle.  “Did I do something wrong?” he asked. 

The prince didn’t speak in return.  Jim hoped he was not crossing a cultural line as he reached behind him for Spock’s right arm, and then brought it around his own body.  “You have to put your arms around me.  I don’t want to lose you.”   He waited, nervously.  He relaxed as the Vulcan voluntarily wound his other arm around him and embraced him on the bike from behind.  Jim reached down and rested his hand over one of Spock’s, finally able to feel the Vulcan’s skin.  Spock gasped behind him at the sensation of pleasure in his brain.  Jim smiled and tightened his hold on Spock’s fingers.  “Are you ready?”  He felt the nod against his shoulder.  “Okay,” he said as he started the hoverbike.  At once, Spock’s arms tightened around him, and he pressed himself closer to him.  Jim liked the feeling very much. 

“Where are we going?” the Vulcan tentatively asked. 

The bike began to rise from the ground, its anti-gravity field stabilizing.  Jim ran his index finger along the back of Spock’s hand, pleased that his action made the Vulcan tremble against him.  “Somewhere we can be alone,” he replied.  “I think you’ll like it.”

Spock looked back at his home as the prince turned the bike and directed them away from the manor.  In the top window Spock saw Christopher and Natasha smiling down at him.  They waved goodbye as the prince took Spock away.  Had he not been holding onto the prince, Spock would have waved back. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

They’d set out early in the day so that anyone else would think that they happened to encounter Prince James during the outdoor festival for his upcoming wedding.  That the prince would then spend a considerable amount of the day with Janice would look as though she had diverted the prince’s attention from his own wedding.  Instead, he would choose to spend time with someone else, and a much more suitable partner than a stuck-up, emotionless Vulcan girl. 

However, as the morning turned into the afternoon, Viscount Marcus began to grow a little anxious and annoyed with Prince James.  Janice had begun to notice that the time has passed and that he should have arrived to meet them by now.  Viscount Marcus saw her excitement and pleasure slowly shift into anger, and his emotions were just behind hers.  How dare a man – even a prince, especially a prince – forget about his arrangement to meet with his darling daughter? 

His thoughts of how to salvage the situation if need be came unexpectedly with the arrival of a certain royal messenger.  Janice came up beside her father quickly, hoping to hear word of Prince James’s whereabouts, and even more his reason for being late.  Viscount Marcus realized that he couldn’t send her away from this conversation. 

“You have news, Mitchell?”

Gary nodded and looked about them in a way that he probably thought was stealthy and sneaky but more than anything would draw attention to their small group.  The Viscount just barely avoided pointing that out.  “Prince James left the palace early this morning—”

“So where is he, then?” Janice whispered venomously. 

Gary continued as though she didn’t even speak.  “—but no one seems to know where he went exactly.”  Viscount Marcus thought that behavior like that from a prince was very suspicious, and he wanted to find out the details of His Highness’s activities.  Janice, however, held on to the vain hope that the prince was planning some elaborate surprise for her.  He seemed romantic like that.  She didn’t much care if he was romantic or not – she just cared that he was the Prince of Terra, the crown prince.  That was more appealing than anything the prince could possibly engineer for her – unless it was a surprise proposal, then that would be marvelous.  She smiled at her own daydream. 

Gary reached into his pocket and pulled out a wrapped object.  “But, after hours of waiting, I managed to snatch this for you.” 

Viscount Marcus took it and unwrapped it just enough to see for himself what lay nestled inside the fabric.  “It’s significance?”

“Her Majesty favors this locket above all others, and has taken to wearing it in the palace quite often lately.”

He shared a conspiring smile with the messenger.  “Why?”

Gary shrugged nonchalantly, and answered simply, “It contains several strands of Prince James’s hair from when he was an infant.  With his wedding approaching, it seems that Her Majesty is becoming sentimental about her younger son, especially in light of her eldest son’s sudden abdication.”

It had great sentimental value to the queen.  That much was obvious.  Now, how to get it returned to her?  Gary must have seen the question in his expression.  The messenger leaned into Viscount Marcus.  “Their Majesties are due to casually drive past the area where your daughter is to meet Prince James.  I heard them instruct their chauffer to do so, which diverts them from the normal route they would ever take on their return to the palace.”

He glared at the messenger.  “So, how would we have come to be in possession of this?”  Gary shifted on his feet, uncomfortable.  The Viscount forced a smile that he most certainly did not feel.  “Without knowing where they had lingered there will be no other conclusion other than we had stolen this.  Find out where they’ve been, then come straight back.”

Gary looked about ready to panic.  “At once, Viscount.”  He bowed hurriedly.

While he was still bowing, the Viscount whispered lowly to him.  “If you fail, you can consider our arrangement void.” 

Gary’s eyes instantly found his.  The Viscount knew in that moment, as the determination filled Mitchell’s eyes, that he had the man where he wanted him.  It seemed that Carol turned out to be useful for something after all – as a pawn to trade to get Janice wed to the throne of Terra.  Carol would do her duty to help her sister.  She always did, the stupid girl.  He watched Gary hurry away to do as he’d asked. 

“I believe this will be your part, my dearest,” he said to Janice, handing her the re-wrapped locket.  She only smiled wickedly back at him. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

It took him only a few minutes to figure out a plan that wouldn’t seem like too much of a lie.  He had to go back to the palace to carry it out.  McCoy had no idea how he snuck the beagle pup into the palace and all the way down the hall to where Montgomery Scott was being kept.  Granted, he ran into several of his guard staff, but they wouldn’t reveal anything about this.  Who would they tell, anyway?  Most likely they would only gossip among themselves, or – at worst – tell Their Majesties. 

The only possibility is that word of the dog’s return would reach the king and queen before he could, to possibly explain the situation.  But not the entire situation.  There was no way that McCoy planned to reveal Jim’s whereabouts, which he didn’t even truly know!  But he was not about to tell them that Jim was somewhere unknown with a mysterious Vulcan male that he’d become obsessively intrigued by when he should be out trying to judge Janice Marcus’s suitability for his wife.  No.  McCoy refused to do it. 

But he had to drop this dog off with Scotty, find Their Majesties, and then find the Marcus family and give a flimsy excuse for Jim’s absence.  The second and third events didn’t even have to happen in that order, just so long as he got to both of them before – on the freak happenstance – they encountered each other! 

He banged on the doors to Montgomery Scott’s chambers earning him a strange look from the two guards standing watch on either side.  As he was mid-second-knocking, the door cracked ajar.  “Captain?” the Scotsman asked.  “What are you?”

McCoy shoved the cage and the dog at the man.  “I can’t explain properly but you need to keep this thing with you until the prince returns.”

“Why?  Where is he?”

McCoy tried not to look as aggravated and impatient as he felt.  “Out looking for it.”

Scotty was confused.  “But if it’s already—”  Then, he nodded in understanding.  “He’s with the Vulcan laddie, isn’t he?”

McCoy glanced at the guards who were clearly listening closely.  The time had come for a blatant lie.  He decided to add a growl in his response.  Perhaps if he acted offended the guards wouldn’t dare speak up to anyone.  “I don’t know what you’re saying, and what the prince does is not your concern, Mister Scott.”

The other man just nodded.  “Aye, just curious as to why he’d want me to keep—”

McCoy shot forward and grabbed the door.  “Because he wanted time alone, damnit!”  Then, he shut the door hard, the sound echoing in the empty hallway.  As he stalked away he shouted back at the guards by the doors.  “Keep the Scotsman confined until I return!”

“Aye, Captain,” they both replied, too nervous to question what just occurred – not even with each other. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

The ride all the way to the prince’s mysterious destination unnerved Spock almost the entire time.  He had no other choice but to press himself securely against the prince and tighten his arms around his chest.  Prince James had taken some turns at dangerously high speeds and laughed as they avoided disaster, while Spock had found himself trying to burrow his face into the prince’s shoulder.  He decided after only one ride that he disliked hoverbikes. 

His nerves and disquiet had eased considerably when the hoverbike stopped, settled to the ground, and silenced completely.  “Are you okay?” the prince asked him, his amusement and exhilaration coming through in his voice.

Spock nodded against him.  “I am grateful that we have stopped.”

Jim chuckled softly, then took off his helmet.  “Bones tells me I drive like I have a death wish.”

Spock couldn’t help but agree with the captain’s opinion of the prince’s driving.  “It did seem reckless.”

Jim turned his head to look at Spock.  “I’d call it adventurous.”

Spock met his gaze.  “A risk-taker would.  However, I am not such a risk-taker.”  He dismounted the hoverbike and removed his own helmet, looking for a place to put it. 

The prince took it from him and rested it beside his own between the console and the windshield.  “I disagree, S’haile Sybok.”  Before Spock could ask his reasoning, the prince got off the bike and came to stand directly in front of him.  “You did get on the bike, and therefore took a risk by placing your safety in my hands.”

Spock looked to the ground, stunned that he had no argument for that.  Perhaps he was a risk-taker, after all.  “I’ve rendered you speechless,” the prince observed.  “I was ready for a comeback for that.”

Spock shook his head.  “I have none.”

“In that case, then,” he said, heading away from Spock and towards the completely stone-built building behind him, “I would like to show you something.”

Spock turned to face the building, stunned at its height and construction.  The structure was magnificent, looking like an ancient cathedral, but altered a little.  “You have brought me to a religious location?”  He knew that his confusion was obvious.  The religious décor had been removed, but the sturdy stonework remained.  If evidence of any religious practice had been removed from this building, then what purpose did it serve? 

Jim turned to look back at him.  “It had been a cathedral long ago.  But at some point, my ancestors decided to store some treasures here.”  He smiled softly at Spock.  “I wanted to show some of them to you.”

Intrigued, Spock approached and waited as the prince entered a series of codes into the panel next to the door.  After three sequences, a hand-print panel slid out.  The prince obediently placed his hand on it.  A moment later, the thick doors parted to allow them to pass.  Spock had thought the doors were wooden, but they were not.  They had the appearance of the material, but were much stronger, much sturdier.  The realization struck him that the doors and the walls were in fact fire resistant and made of an uncommonly strong material. 

He had been expecting treasures to mean something like precious jewels or metals.  He saw none of that.  But he picked up the distinct and unmistakable scent of old ink and paper.  Books.  He gasped as the realization struck him.  The prince looked at him anxiously as he watched Spock take in his surroundings.  “This is a library,” Spock whispered reverently. 

Jim smiled at his Vulcan guest.  “Yes, containing the oldest and rarest manuscripts we could gather.  It took countless hours and so much dedication and—”

“And love,” Spock interrupted, surprising the prince. 

Jim recovered quickly with another smile.  “Yeah, and love.”  He cleared his throat awkwardly.  “Would you like to look?”

Spock allowed himself to smile back at the prince.  “I would not know where to start,” he admitted.  “My own library consists of considerably less material than this, but it was always my favorite place.  My happiest memories are there.”

Jim gestured to the passage on his right, pleased when Sybok took his direction and preceded him through the arched, open doorway.  The scent of the old books nearly overwhelmed Spock as he entered the tall room.  The lamps bathed the spines of the bound knowledge in a warm and welcoming glow.  He was so lost in wonder at this single room that he failed to hear the prince approaching him until he stood directly behind him.  “Would you tell me about them, your memories?”

Spock turned to Jim.  “As you wish, Highness.”

“Can you do it as you explore?”  Jim very much wanted to learn everything he could about Sybok, especially now that he finally had him all to himself.  He saw the Vulcan’s eyes scaling the tall shelves like an excited archeologist who just discovered an ancient, lost city.  He didn’t want to ruin that.  “Or should I wait until you get used to this?”

Spock thought that there was no possible way he could ever become accustomed to something like this.  He could never live the way the prince did.  He would never again see the inside of this building after today.  He wanted to memorize it, touch everything just to be sure that he wasn’t dreaming.  This moment seemed very much like a dream, one from which he never wanted to wake up.

Spock walked further into the room and looked at the titles on the shelves.  After only several of them, he realized they must be in the history wing.  He turned to the prince.  “Do you have fiction or poetry?”

Jim’s eyebrows rose in surprise.  He never expected a Vulcan to ask for fictional works or poetry – too illogical or sentimental for their tastes.  Yet, S’haile Sybok surprised him again by defying all of the norms he’d associated with Vulcans.  Though, he shouldn’t have been surprised at the request coming from this particular Vulcan.  “Yes,” he answered.  “It’s the floor above this one.  Come with me.” 

Jim turned and led Spock up the steps, preferring not to take the lift today.  He wanted to see his guest’s expression change as more and more volumes of books came into their view.  Sybok did not disappoint him.  As soon as they came around the corner and into the next and largest wing of the Royal Library, the sound that Sybok made was one Jim would always remember.  Spock was overwhelmed with the number of volumes, the scent of them, the sight of them, and the potential for getting lost in worlds to which he could escape from his own. 

Jim watched from the doorway as Spock slowly walked through the wing, the wonder obvious in his pace, his silence, his aborted movements to touch a book periodically, but most especially in the Vulcan’s open expression.  Finally, Spock ran his fingers affectionately along the length of the book’s spine before he carefully removed it from the shelf.  Interested, Jim approached, wondering which of the countless treasured books earned Sybok’s full attention enough to take it from the shelf.  “Which one is it?”

“My mother’s favorite,” Spock answered, walking toward a settee in the room for leisurely reading.  He lowered himself slowly onto it, but he did not recline.  Jim considered that an invitation to join him.

When he sat next to him he leaned into him a little to see the title of the hardbound book.  “A Tale of Two Cities?”  Spock traced the letters of the title contemplatively, his mind lost in memories.  Jim noticed his retreat into himself.  He wanted him to talk, to open up to him.  There was no reason why Sybok could not do so here when they were alone.  “Are you okay?”

Spock took a shuddering breath.  “Of course, Highness.  Forgive me.  I was distracted by—”

“Memories,” Jim finished.

Spock nodded.  He lifted the cover of the book, but not fully opening it.  He only allowed himself just enough to see the first page.  “Yes.” 

“You can tell me about your memories,” he prompted.  When he got no response, he tried something more.  “You said it’s your mother’s favorite?”

Spock did not look at the prince.  He was transfixed by the book.  “Yes, and a book of poetry she kept.”

Jim smiled, amused.  “Your mother read human poetry?”

Spock looked at the prince then, realizing that he did not know of his mixed heritage.  It was only another reason why they could never possibly be together.  The first remained that his male gender did not suit the prince’s need for heirs.  The second – his mixed heritage – would prevent him from entering into any kind of relationship with Prince James, even were he female.  Half-breeds were an abomination, shameful.  The Viscount had made that quite clear.  But he did not want to ruin this day, this already perfect day where he could pretend that he was the Vulcan lord the prince thought him to be, where he could experience how non-servants lived, how blissful their lives were.  He wanted to know what it was like not to be judged for his parents’ union, for being a half-Human, half-Vulcan child, a byproduct that never should have survived.  After all, his brother had not survived, so why had Spock?  But despite all of that, Spock deeply loved and missed his mother, and would not have changed her for anything.  “She preferred Vulcan poetry.”

“Naturally,” Jim said.  He’d been prepared for a surprise that time – to find out that a Vulcan woman often read illogical human poetry.  Of course, though, Sybok’s mother would prefer the literature of her own kind.  For some reason, Jim wanted to learn more about her, about a part of this Vulcan that helped to shape him into the one sitting beside him.  “Tell me about her.”

Spock understood that Jim asked him rather than commanded him.  He could easily avoid divulging such information if he wished.  Spock looked at the book, then turned his attention to the prince, seeing the curiosity and interest in his eyes.  He swallowed nervously, and prepared his answer, ready to omit certain details about his mother.  “This book was her favorite.  She read it to me when I was a child.”  He smiled softly, running his fingers over the raised lettering of the book.  He closed his eyes, thinking of his mother, but only able to recall her face, her movements, her smile.  He could not recall how she sounded.  Spock sighed sadly and opened his eyes.  “I wish I could hear her voice again.”

The realization hit Jim hard.  Sybok’s mother was dead, and apparently had been for a long time.  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“It was long ago,” Spock confirmed.  Then, quite unexpectedly, the words poured forth.  “Before I had been born, she had been a teacher of many subjects.  That never left her, even after my birth.  She was my teacher, for she did not permit tutors or private instructors for me.  She wanted personally to teach me everything I needed to learn – science, history, philosophy, mathematics, everything.  She instilled in me a thirst for knowledge and a love of learning.  Our library, though much, much smaller than this wonderful place, is my favorite place.  I have long since read all of the materials in it, some of them many times.” 

Jim stared at Sybok, stunned in the knowledge that any Vulcan could speak so fondly yet so factually.  He watched the slender fingers caress the book.  He wanted to touch Sybok.  The hoverbike necessitated it, but he didn’t want that excuse.  He never got further than lifting his hand.  Sybok turned to him.  “Have I said something wrong, Your Highness?”

He shook his head at the question, lowered his seeking hand, and looked at the nervous Vulcan.  “No.  No, you haven’t.”

Sybok had grown still.  “You look upset.”

“No, I was thinking of my own tutors, and how incredibly inadequate they were,” he replied, evading the real reason for his discontent.  He wanted to touch him again.  The moment on the hoverbike would never be enough.  Instead he kept talking.  “I’ve had so many teachers in my childhood.  Each one taught a different specialty.  But it was only a job to them, something they were commanded or commissioned to do.  I’d always paid attention in my lessons and retained quite a bit of them, but I never really looked forward to them.  I don’t think my tutors did either, actually.”  Sybok looked at him with interest and attention.  Jim no longer wanted to let the fact that they were alone go to waste.  Here, alone, he could speak his mind freely and candidly to Sybok.  “They never truly loved what they were doing.  Your mother obviously did.  I think if any of my tutors had as much passion and dedication like she clearly did with you, then I probably would have turned out better.” 

“She was an exceptional person,” Spock praised her.  She was something in his life of which he could never be ashamed.  “But I do not think that being other than what you are would make you anything better or worse.  We can only conclude for certainty that you would have been different.”  Spock allowed himself a small smile.  He did not censor himself.  “And I do not believe that you are so terrible.  There are many, many others far worse than you.”  He had met some of them himself.  In fact, two of them were his own family.  This prince was nowhere near as selfish and conceitedly entitled as the Viscount and Janice.  “I have encountered several of them.  You are far from that, Your Highness.”

Jim felt the smile grow.  He swallowed nervously.  “I’m glad you think so.”  Bolstering his nerve, he did as Miss Uhura had instructed and touched his first two fingers to Spock’s corresponding digits.  Surely a Vulcan would understand what he wanted to convey by that gesture.  Spock looked at their touching fingers curiously.  Curiosity was definitely not the reaction Jim had hoped to get from him.  He felt a strange ache in his chest, a small piece of hope fade away, and doubt overcome his thoughts.  Perhaps the Vulcan didn’t reciprocate his feelings.  Weren’t all Vulcans telepaths?  Shouldn’t he have felt his affection for him just now?  Perhaps he did, and he was simply pretending not to understand so he didn’t insult Jim.  With a saddened sigh, Jim withdrew his touch and stood from the settee intending to browse on his own. 

“Your Highness,” Spock called to him.  Jim heard him stand.  “Have I offended you in some way or—”

Jim couldn’t turn to look at him, not yet.  He didn’t want to see Sybok’s pity from his refused advances.  Perhaps that was why Sybok had stayed away and avoided him and ran from him – he didn’t wish to encourage the prince.  “No, you didn’t offend me.  I just wanted to—”  He cut himself off.  He needed to watch his words now. 

“Do you wish me to leave?”  Spock needed to ask the question, though he most certainly had no desire to know the answer.  What Jim wanted was the exact opposite.  He pulled his lips between his teeth to stifle any hasty words.  He shook his head.  Spock hesitated before he went to the prince.  “Then why are you displeased?  It must be something I have done, since you deny it is anything I have said.”

With Sybok, he had felt like he could say what he felt.  He’d even told McCoy that he felt like he could be himself around Sybok.  He didn’t want to pretend he was someone else now.  He’d grown tired of hiding himself.  He turned to Sybok and looked him in the eyes.  “You’ve made your feelings clear just now.  You aren’t interested in what I want to offer you.” 

Confusion and puzzlement clouded Sybok’s eyes.  “I do not understand.  We have not spoken of anything like—”

“I didn’t speak it.”

Spock had never felt helplessness like this since his mother’s death.  The prince was not making sense.  “Then how could I possibly—”

Jim began to believe that Sybok’s confusion was not a performance, but something genuine.  “Vulcans are telepaths,” he explained, wondering why he needed to explain that to a Vulcan.  “I just touched you.  I thought you’d know what I was feeling, what I didn’t say.”

Spock began to understand why the prince suddenly fled.  “I have always kept control of myself.  My mind was not open to you.  It is never open to others unless I choose to let them in, and that is a very rare occurrence.”

There was only one way for him to understand that.  “So you chose to keep me out.”

“Not intentionally.  I did not know what you were trying to accomplish by your touch.”

Jim suspected he’d misunderstood Miss Uhura’s explanation on how to kiss a Vulcan.  “I must have done it wrong,” he thought aloud, trying to remember what she told him.  No, it definitely involved his index and middle finger.  Perhaps the gesture wasn’t right. 

Spock did not understand.  “What is it that you were attempting to do?”

Jim stared at Spock, stunned.  How did he not know?  “I was trying to kiss you,” he confessed. 

Spock’s eyes widened, his brows rose, and his mouth fell open in shock.  Jim watched and wondered why Sybok would be so surprised by what he’d just said.  A moment later, confusion overpowered the surprise in his expression.  Then there came the smallest amount of amusement.  “I would have thought that a prince, of all people, would know that a kiss typically involves a joining of lips.”

 Now Jim was the one confused.  “But I thought Vulcans kissed by touching the first two fingers to each other.”

Spock shook his head.  This was confusing and disconcerting.  “I did not know that a touching of fingers _was_ a kiss.”

All at once things made sense to Jim.  “You’ve never seen Vulcans kiss,” he said it, not asked it.  “Not even your parents.”

Spock stiffened and clutched the book to his chest protectively.  “My father died when I was an infant, and my mother barely ten years after.  I have never seen them interact with each other that I can remember.”  He wanted the prince’s questioning to stop.  He was quickly approaching answers that Spock did not wish to share.  “So I have had little exposure to—”

Jim came close to Spock, who flinched away from him.  “Not even in any Vulcan poetry you’ve read was it mentioned?”

“It only referred to a kiss.  It did not describe the process,” Spock heard the unsteadiness of his voice.

Perhaps Uhura hadn’t lied to him after all.  It seemed that Sybok truly had no idea how his own culture kissed.  The knowledge was astounding.  Jim moved without truly thinking about it, without thinking about the consequences.  His hand caught one of Sybok’s wrists and he pulled the arm toward him.  He ignored the surprised gasp from the Vulcan.  Jim raised his left hand and extended only his index and middle fingers, managed to coax Spock’s fingers to unclench, and then curled his own extended fingers around Spock’s index and middle fingers.

Spock watched in fascination and curiosity.  He never would have thought that a human would be one to teach him about his own heritage – never mind the Prince of Terra.  He’d never seen a Vulcan kiss before.  His mother had never taught him.  He’d always assumed that a Vulcan kiss was no different than a Human kiss.  Then, he realized it.  Prince James was kissing him.  Spock experienced his very first kiss.  He gasped at the realization and found the prince’s blue eyes.  “Your Highness,” he whispered, unsure of what he should say. 

The prince looked very nervous and anxious.  “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” he replied immediately. 

“Do you feel anything?”

Spock tilted his head.  “I feel your fingers on mine,” he said, uncertain if the prince sought something more.

Jim smiled gently.  “I meant telepathically.  Do you feel anything?”

“Oh.”  Spock looked at their joined fingers, seeing the prince’s curled around his own, though is remained stiffly extended.  Spock licked his lips as he closed his eyes.  He had never lowered his mental shields near anyone that was not Christopher, Natasha, Pavel, or Hikaru before.  He trusted all of them deeply.  But the prince’s sincerity and considerate manner made him want to lower them now.  He allowed his shields to lower just a little, his mind seeking to understand the emotions that were not his own stemming from their contact.  The most prominent one he could determine from the prince was hope.  He only knew it to be hope because Spock experienced the same emotion then.  He answered the prince’s hope with a surge of contentment from himself telepathically.  Physically, Spock curled his own fingers around those of the prince. 

Jim watched as the emotions crossed Spock’s face one by one.  It was a beautiful thing to witness – a Vulcan discovering something new.  He couldn’t deny that he was very pleased to have been the only one to see it.  This moment existed as an intensely private one between them.  He was glad that he decided to bring Sybok here.  When he saw all other emotions even out on Spock’s expression, Jim realized that the Vulcan was at peace with their activity.  “You like it?”

Spock kept his eyes closed, letting the sensations course through him.  “Yes.”

“Do you feel me this time?”

Spock wanted to see the prince.  He opened his eyes and looked into the prince’s eyes, seeing the certainty in the answer to the question he’d just asked, but also seeing the prince’s nervousness that he could not quite bury.  “Yes.”  Suddenly, the nervousness vanished in a burst of joy, clearly evident in the prince’s bright smile. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

After Gary returned and gave him a little more information to work with, Viscount Marcus diverted the girls to go down a street that the king and queen had recently gone through.   There they pretended to discover the queen’s missing locket near one of the establishments that the royals had visited within the last hour.   Janice had performed perfectly after the Viscount had planted the locket stealthily as they continued about their business.  Janice had found the locket, brought it to her father, who loudly declared it to belong to Her Majesty.  Janice then proceeded to announce her intention in returning it as soon as the first opportunity presented itself.  They had two plans, and whichever came first would be the one they acted upon.  Whether Their Majesties encountered them first, or Prince James arrived to court Janice first would be the plan that took place. 

It had so happened that they had encountered the king and queen first.  Janice triumphed by not only convincingly returning the locket, but also endearing herself within two minutes to the queen enough to warrant a private invitation to the palace the following day.  Her Majesty had heard that her son had been seen with Lady Janice yesterday and had made arrangements to meet her again publicly.  However, she wanted to know a little more than the name of the young lady she would most likely be calling her daughter shortly.  The invitation was made and quickly accepted, even allowing for the Viscount to attend as well.  The queen promised there would be tea and discussions of a possible match.  Viscount Marcus had never been prouder of Janice.  By tomorrow, the title of princess would practically belong to Janice. 

All that was left was to continue to capture the prince’s attention and affection. 

That step proved more difficult without the prince being in their company.  They had been waiting in the pre-arranged place for Prince James, however, for nearly an hour now.  Janice was getting restless, Viscount Marcus grew angrier by the minute, and Carol only got more and more bored.  She was grateful beyond words that they had arranged to meet the prince at a quaint little outdoor café before they set off to do whatever it was the prince had planned.  She would much rather had stayed at the manor, but her father had demanded she come along.  And so, she stayed where she’d been for the last hour, which was in the chair closest to the outer façade of the café, leisurely sipping her fruit tea, the drink having long become the same temperature as the outside and thus no longer able to be called iced tea anymore.  As she sipped she watched the noble men and women of various species – though most of them were still Human – pass by their table and the café, oblivious to them.  Carol had grown used to being unseen.  She actually enjoyed watching others sometimes. 

While her father and Janice got up from their table to go inside for another drink, Carol remained outside, enjoying the sunshine and her slowly warming tea.  She was absently stirring the small bits of fruit pieces in her glass, fascinated by their dance, when a something blocked her from the sun.  She looked up and then smiled at the huffing man standing in front of her.  “Captain McCoy!  Is the prince with you?”

“Uh…no.  He won’t be able to make it today.  I’m here to apologize on his behalf.”  The Captain of the Royal Guard shifted on his feet awkwardly.  He looked at her, taking in her dress, her drinking glass wet with condensation, and her bright smile.  He couldn’t help but smile back at her.  “You’re not alone, are you?”

Carol shook her head.  “Not for long.  My father and sister have gone inside for a drink, but they’ll be back soon.”

McCoy nodded.  “Okay, good.”

“Good?  Why good?” she asked. 

He peered into the window to the café just to be sure he had the time.  Seeing that he did, he revealed what he’d hidden behind his back with a flourish.  He never thought he would be the type of person to do such a display in public, ever, but it turned out that he was more than okay with it.  He’d been rehearsing what he would say to the Viscount when he reached him for Jim’s lack of arrival when he had an idea.  “Straight from the Royal Gardens, my lady,” he announced. 

They were fully-opened pink roses.  That they were not even bound in any kind of ribbon made it obvious that they did not come from a florist, and also that McCoy had not bought them.  That only left one option.  He had picked them himself.  She smiled at the gesture, feeling herself blush just a little.  “They’re beautiful,” she said.  For a moment, Carol could almost believe she could accept them.  But reality returned to her awareness and wiped her smile away.  “But I can’t take them.”

McCoy saw her happiness when he presented her with the flowers.  This didn’t make sense.  “What?  Why not?”

Carol looked miserably into her tea.  “They won’t believe they’re for me.” 

This horrified McCoy.  Was this woman denied everything by her family?  He became angry on her behalf.  He was starting to regret his own advice to Jim, or rather that his advice had led her to speak to Janice in the first place.  That spoiled woman would never be a good match for Jim – not if she could so easily treat her own sister like this.  With each interaction he had with Carol, McCoy disliked the rest of her family more and more.  How Jim’s Vulcan had family that was connected to the Viscount mystified him.  Surely Vulcans would think that the way in which Carol endured neglect and this kind of mistreatment from her father and sister would be thought of as illogical, right?  Surely they would then do something about it, wouldn’t they?  Maybe Vulcans were just as unfeeling and unemotional as he’d always heard. 

“Perhaps you should give them to Janice,” Carol suggested quietly.  “Say that they’re from Prince James as an apology for not coming today.  She’s been upset about it.  It might calm her down a little bit.”

McCoy had started shaking his head as soon as she’d spoken her sister’s name.  “I brought them for you.”

Carol looked up at him with a sad smile.  “They’d just end up with her anyway.  Please.”

McCoy looked through the window of the café again to see the Viscount and Janice turning from receiving their drinks.  They would be back outside in moments.  He looked back to Carol.  “Okay.  Next time, they’re yours, though, you hear me?”

Carol’s laugh ended up sounding more like an aborted sob.  “Next time, Captain.”

As Viscount Marcus and Janice emerged from the café, McCoy stepped forward and placed himself between them and Carol.  Just because she’d told him to give her sister the flowers, he had no intention of making her watch.  He bowed his head just enough to be considered polite.  He was the Captain of the Royal Guard, so he figured that he could get away with minimal civility.  “Viscount Marcus, Lady Janice,” he began his rehearsed speech, only to be interrupted by the Viscount.

“And who are you?”

McCoy tried very hard not to bristle.  “Captain of the Royal Guard,” he answered.  They didn’t deserve his name. 

“I see,” the Viscount drawled, eyeing him with clear disapproval.  “And why aren’t you guarding any of the royal family now?”

Behind him, McCoy heard Carol gasp at her father’s inappropriate question.  He was glad that his free hand rested behind his back before the Viscount began speaking.  It made it easier to reach back enough to rest it on Carol’s shoulder reassuringly.  He felt her relax at his touch.  “My orders and duties are none of your concern, sir,” he replied sharply.  “In fact, had you let me speak, you would have learned that Prince James sent me to find you in order to extend his apologies for not meeting you—”

“So His Highness is running late, then,” the Viscount stated. 

McCoy hardened his voice further as he continued as though the other man hadn’t spoken.  “—today, and that he is unable to do so at all.”  Then, he looked to Janice, trying not to show how much he did not want to give the flowers he’d intended for Carol to her.  “He sends these to you, Lady Janice, as a token of apology and in requesting forgiveness.”

Janice eagerly took the roses from him, inhaling the scent that was not meant for her.  “As if I could ever hold a grudge against James.”  McCoy definitely didn’t like that she failed to refer to Jim with any kind of title.  Not at all.  “I’m sure whatever he had to do was of great importance.”

“It was,” McCoy admitted, though he would never tell her that Jim spending time alone with a Vulcan male he’d become infatuated with but could never wed was something the prince considered far more important than spending time with Janice.

“May I ask what was so important that His Highness deemed it acceptable to slight my daughter?” the Viscount asked. 

McCoy wanted to know what reason the Viscount would give for slighting Carol.  Instead, he took a little more satisfaction in a simpler reply.  “You may not.”  That satisfaction only increased when he saw the Viscount’s visible anger and his spine straighten stiffly.  He almost couldn’t help but smile at it.  “Now, if you will excuse me, I have business to attend to.” 

“I suppose, then,” the Viscount dismissed him, turning pointedly away from him to speak quietly with Janice. 

After determining quickly that it would go unnoticed, McCoy turned to Carol.  “My lady,” he whispered, with a barely perceptible nod.  She bit her lower lip to stop her smile from widening, but she could not tame her own blush.  As McCoy walked away from her, he did not bother to hide his own smile. 


	8. Worries and Suspicions

Jim had decided to take a longer route back from the Royal Library, much to Spock’s dismay.  He had tried to protest the choice, but the prince had turned to him with a smirk.  “You’re not very adventurous, are you?” he’d asked.  Spock said nothing in reply.  Putting on his helmet had been answer enough for Prince James.  He took Spock’s book and stowed it in a small compartment on the hoverbike.  Spock had been shocked that the prince permitted him to remove one of the Royal Treasures from the library, but the prince claimed it would ensure that they would meet again after today.  Spock had no argument for it. 

However, that did not excuse the reckless driving of the prince seated in front of him.  If something happened to them, Spock may never be able to read the book after all.  He held on to the prince’s body as they raced into the forest.  He wanted to watch and truly experience the moment, but he ended up burying his face into the prince’s shoulder each time they took a turn just a little too sharply for Spock’s comfort.  Jim, however, relished in getting such a reaction from Sybok.  He knew that when he drove fast or took a turn a little sharply that Sybok would only clench his arms tighter around his torso and nuzzle into his shoulder, yet stay silent.  Jim liked it and found the mannerisms endearing, especially on a Vulcan.  Had he done this with a human, he knew that he would have likely endured some hearing impairment from them screaming in terror in his ear.  Bones always shouted at him for his driving, and he wasn’t even on the bike with him. 

“Your Highness,” Spock said.  The Vulcan spoke softly but Jim heard him clearly due to the voice pickup and receiver in their helmets.  “The vehicle does not sound the same as our first commute.”

Jim took another turn just a little sharply and smiled as he felt Sybok’s arms tighten around him.  “It’s fine.  I’m just working it harder than usual since Bones isn’t here to complain.”

“I am concerned for our safety,” Spock persisted.  “Perhaps there is a reason for your guard to keep your speed and control of such a questionable vehicle within proper safety measures.”

Jim shook his head.  Maybe if he distracted Sybok he would relax a little.  He let go of one of the handgrips and covered Sybok’s hand that firmly clenched his jacket over his chest.  He felt Sybok’s hand shake, and heard the faint gasp in his ear.  “It’s fine.  Stop worrying so much.” 

“Fine is an extremely vague word, Your Highness, doing very little to properly describe an event, person, or object with anything even approaching accura—”  Spock stopped speaking abruptly as a horrendous noise came from their hoverbike. 

Jim had no idea how he managed to get the bike to safely set down, but at least he didn’t crash it with Sybok riding behind him.  Once they stopped completely, it was like his guest couldn’t get off the hoverbike any faster.  He was standing several feet away from it while Jim was simply removing his helmet and taking his time to stand on the ground again.  _So much for the scenic way home,_ he thought.

Spock watched as the prince went around to certain areas of the bike, muttering to himself about a fuel line.  He couldn’t be certain, however.  The prince touched what Spock assumed to be the engine, only to hiss and pull his hand away, shaking it.  The prince glanced at him sheepishly, worrying his lower lip, before taking out a communication device. 

The answer came immediately.  “Jim!  Where the hell are you?  You said you’d be back at a decent time!” 

Jim turned away from Sybok in embarrassment.  This is not how he wanted the day to end – stranded due to his hoverbike breaking down.  “It’s almost sunset, Bones.  I’ve gotten home way later than this.”

“I’m actually talking about your Vulcan with you.  Is it common for him to be wandering around like that?”

It certainly was not normal for Spock.  Not at all.  He looked worriedly at the hoverbike.  He needed to be home before the Viscount and Janice, especially, truly noted his absence.  He knew which way he had to travel to get home.  Nodding to himself, Spock began to walk.  Any further progress was an improvement to loitering about. 

Jim stared morosely at the overheated hoverbike.  “Okay, that’s not the point.  The bike died.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, we both fine.” 

He heard McCoy’s sigh clearly.  “Well, a dead bike’s fine.  A dead prince isn’t, so that’s good.  Is the transmitter still working?”

Jim leaned over to look at the end of the left handgrip.  The light still shone blue.  “Yeah, still good.” 

“Then, I’ll find you unless you have a magical alternate way of getting home.” 

Jim laughed as he turned away from the hoverbike, but immediately noticed that Sybok had already walked away from him.  “Hang on, Bones.”  He muted his end of the communicator and jogged after Sybok.  He wouldn’t try to run from him now, would he?  “Sybok!  Wait!  Where are you going?”

Spock did not even turn around.  He continued walking.  “I am journeying to the house.”

Jim realized with a start that this behavior from Sybok was almost identical to how he’d escaped him during their first meeting when he’d begged the Vulcan for his name.  He jogged past Sybok and turned just as he had that day which seemed so long ago now, walking backwards so that he could face the other male.  “This will take longer, you know, than waiting to get picked up by Bones.” 

Spock did not break his stride.  “Then we will surely encounter him along the road as he comes to collect us.”  Spock slid past him and continued walking along the road. 

Jim stood there in amusement, the gap widening between them with every one of Sybok’s footsteps.  He unmuted his communicator.  “Send someone just for the bike.  We’ll meet you along the way.”

McCoy groaned.  “Oh, Jim, please don’t tell that you two are—”

Jim smiled as he watched Sybok trek away.  “Apparently, we’re walking for a while.  S’ haile Sybok is very determined.” 

“You do remember that he’s a Vulcan, right?”  McCoy didn’t even give Jim time to respond.  “Stubborn bastards, all of ‘em.” 

Jim laughed and began another light jog to catch up to Sybok.  “We’ll see you soon, Bones.”  He cut their communication and stowed the device away.  Finally, he reached Sybok, whose pace still had yet to change.  “Hold on, Sybok.  Just stop for a minute.” 

Spock obeyed, knowing a command when he heard it.  “We should not waste time, Your Highness.”

“We’re not, I just—” Jim couldn’t stop smiling as he reached for Sybok’s face.  He undid the fastenings, and then carefully lifted the riding helmet from Sybok’s head.  “I just thought you’d be more comfortable without that.” 

Spock felt his face heat with embarrassment.  He’d forgotten all about having the helmet on in his determination to make at least some progress in reaching the estate sooner rather than later.  “Oh,” he managed to say, feebly. 

“Can you stay right there so that I can leave this back with the bike and not have to sprint to catch up to you?”  Spock nodded in answer.  “Okay,” Jim said, already heading away.  “I’ll be right back.  Don’t move.”  Spock watched the prince jog off for a moment before he turned his attention to the ground, studying it, trying to calm his mind so that he could avoid further careless and silly decisions.  But all he could think about was Prince James’s smile. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

“Remember, Janice, we can’t be too confident just yet,” the Viscount said loudly enough so that Janice could hear him.  She was only immediately behind her father, but it seemed that Viscount Marcus wanted to announce something loudly for the entire household to know.  Pike came forward and removed the Viscount’s jacket as soon as the man presented his back to him.  Janice followed her father’s example.  Carol, however, removed her own light jacket and handed it to Pike. 

Even as he went to put the clothes away in their respective rooms, the Viscount’s voice clearly boomed through the house.  “We need to find out what exactly made Prince James not show up for our meeting.”

This time, Carol spoke up.  “We were told why, Father.  There was an incident that the prince chose to—”

Pike had just come back into the sitting room when the Viscount replied to his younger daughter harshly.  “I heard what that rude, pompous, self-righteous guard told us.”

Janice looked at Carol pityingly.  “Really, Carol, you actually believe James’s lackey?”

“There, Carol,” the Viscount snarled at the blonde.  “You seem to be the only one who can’t tell when someone’s lying to you.”  He didn’t even react to Carol’s expression and posture crumbling in her sadness.  “That’s why you’re only supposed to make sure that Janice is ready to become the princess she was born to be.  And if Prince James won’t come to us, then we will go to him.”

Carol sunk into one of the chairs miserably, trying not to let her father’s and sister’s words hurt her.  Maybe she could ask Spock how he managed to keep his composure.  He might be able to teach her something about not feeling some emotions.  He never seemed bothered by how her father and sister treated him. 

Pike continued on through the house, looking for Natasha.  He found her tidying up the dining room. “Is Spock back yet?” he whispered so the Viscount could not overhear.  

“No,” she whispered in reply.  “And I’m starting to worry.”

“He should’ve been back by now.”

“I hope nothing happened to him.”

Pike lifted some of the trinkets on the mantelpiece so she could dust underneath their places.  It gave him an excuse to be there.  “What are we going to say when the Viscount asks for him?”

“We’ll have to lie, Chris,” she concluded, her voice shaking. 

“I know that, but what is the lie going to be?  He’s never gone this long.  Ever.” 

They hadn’t even heard Pavel approach before he spoke at his mother side.  “Tell them he was helping Sulu or something.” 

Pike shook his head.  “The Viscount won’t accept that.  Spock has to return with something.”

Pavel stared at his feet as he thought.  “What if he went to the orchards?  They’re the farthest from the house.” 

“Spock!” shouted the Viscount. 

Pike sighed in frustration.  “It’s the only thing we’ve got.  He better believe this one.”  He began to walk back to the sitting room to answer the Viscount.  Then, he turned back to his family.  “Get going, Pav!”  Then, he was gone from the dining room. 

Pavel looked at his mother.  “Get going where?”

Natasha rolled her eyes at her son.  “You do have your dumb moments, don’t you?”  She turned him toward the kitchens.  “Get going to the orchards and start picking as fast as you can,” she instructed quietly.  “If Spock comes home from the orchards with nothing—”

“Right!” Pavel chirped, already thinking of convincing Sulu to help him pick faster.  “I’ll bring back lots!” he promised, and then he was gone down into the kitchen to sneak out the servants’ door.  Natasha went back to tidying, hoping that Pavel returned before Spock did. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Spock heard a shout from where they had left the malfunctioning hoverbike.  When he turned he was surprised to see a group surrounding both the hoverbike and Prince James, who clearly had just been struck judging by the way his body leaned heavily on the bike.  Spock decided that he should at the very least try to help him.  It was on his account that the prince was even in this location at all.  Had he met with Janice as he should have, the prince would not be in this situation. 

His attention was so focused on Prince James and the threatening group surrounding him that Spock failed to see the three others in the camouflage of the forest until it was too late.  One moment he approached the prince, and the next he was flat on his back.  He rolled to the side just as his attacker’s fist came at his face, quickly regaining his feet.  Apparently, someone waited behind him.  His arms were grabbed.  “Tie this one up, I think,” a guttural voice said in Standard. 

A second of them, a fierce-looking Klingon, approached him.  “Good-looking, this one.”

Terror filled Spock at the Klingon’s words.  How did QumwI’ Hegh find him here?  The person behind him began to bind his hands.  “He’d be a nice addition.”  Resolve took hold of him in that moment.  He would be no one’s addition to anything.  Spock had no idea how he did it, but he managed to swipe the legs out from under the man behind him.  With his hands freed, he swung at the Klingon, surprised by his own strength as the bigger alien stumbled back a step.  During that moment of the Klingon’s confusion, Spock took off running.  He had to get away from here.  He would not be taken to QumwI’ Hegh while he had the ability to run. 

His flight did not last long.  A body collided into his own and brought him to the ground hard.  He rolled, trying to throw his attacker off of him, but it did not work.  He cried out sharply as this other person wrestled his arms behind his back and then pressed his weight onto them, effectively trapping him on the ground.  A hand grabbed his hair in a merciless grip and pulled his head back to expose his neck where a blade poised threateningly.  “That’s better, Vulcan,” the Klingon hissed at him. 

“Let him go!”  Prince James’s voice had never been more welcome to Spock than at that moment.  The prince was bound hands and feet and dragged along the road towards them by two bulky humans.  Spock admired that even while bound and captured, Prince James still made demands. 

Feminine laughter sounded in the otherwise quiet area.  Spock strained but not enough to look like he was trying to escape his captors.  From out of the greenery of the forest came an equally green-skinned Orion female.  She wore a wrap-around skirt and a loose shirt, with an open brown leather jacket to help her blend in with the bark of the trees around her.  The only thing she could not hide so easily was her bright red hair, which she tied back in a loose braid away from her face.  Her long-bladed dagger was unsheathed and she twirled it carelessly.  “A bold demand for someone in no position to make one.”  She strolled to Prince James, whose attention was only on Spock. 

“This one gave us a fight, Lady,” said the Klingon holding the blade at Spock’s throat. 

The Orion only just noticed the second captive.  “A Vulcan gave you trouble?  You have twice his strength.  He should have been easy.”

“This one sure wasn’t,” another male said as he planted his foot in Jim’s back and sent him to the ground.  The prince only allowed a quiet grunt at the impact he could do nothing to prevent.  “Fought like a caged beast the whole time.” 

 Jim didn’t intend for anything bad to happen to them today.  And because he had acted carelessly with the bike, he’d brought this upon them.  He craned to look at Spock.  “Are you hurt?”

Spock decided to speak rather than move his head and risk having his throat slit.  “I am uninjured, Your—”  He stopped abruptly, catching himself from revealing to their attackers just who they had captured.  Spock changed his wording, “You’re also alright?”

Jim licked his bleeding lip and couldn’t help but smile.  “I’ll be fine.”

“But you are bleeding,” Spock stated, knowing most would think that he had stated something obvious.  He saw immediately that the prince understood that Spock said it to express his concern.  He knew by the way the prince’s eyes softened. 

“It’ll stop,” he said.  Spock understood that the prince had just thanked him for his concern. 

The Orion, however, became very interested in the prince as soon as she glimpsed his face.  She went right up to him and used the tip of her dagger to tilt his head up to look at her.  Then she smiled.  “We seem to have caught a great prize today,” she told her group around her.  “Or am I mistaken, Your Highness?”

Jim said nothing.  There was no way he would admit to his identity.  “Let the Vulcan go,” he evaded, “and I’ll go where you want me to without fighting.”

She snickered.  “You can’t fight if you wanted to, Prince, being all tied like you are.”  She leaned closer to him.  “You’ll have to try something else.”

“Look what I found with the bike, Lady,” a girl said, holding out the book Jim had let Spock remove from the Royal Library.  The Orion took it from her and examined it. 

“All you have is a book?”

“And his sword,” one of the bulky humans said, proudly, handing it over to the Orion.  She was obviously their leader. 

She bowed to Prince James, who still lay awkwardly on the ground, pinned there by a man’s booted foot.  “Although my dearest daughter shall thank you for the book, as boring as the title implies.  We do not have many opportunities to get books out here.”

“I imagine you don’t,” Jim mumbled. 

“Perhaps you can make a gift of it to her in person,” the Orion suggested, a leering smile on her face.

She turned in surprise when it wasn’t the prince that responded, but the second captive.  “The book belongs to me, and as such, I demand that you return it to me.”  She stared at the Vulcan in shock.  Spock took her silence as an invitation to continue.  “Also, as you plan to deprive me of my traveling companion I demand transportation from here.”

The Orion laughed.  “Were you not paying attention when I told him,” she pointed to the prince with her dagger, “that he was in no position to demand anything of me?  As you’re in a similar position, you are not able to make demands either.” 

It was then that a man came forward from her party.  “Lady,” he said quietly, but not quiet enough for either Jim or Spock.  “You remember the incident from several days ago with the Royal Guard?”  The Orion nodded.  He nodded at Prince James.  “This is the man that could’ve killed me but didn’t when I took the bag.”  

Jim’s eyes widened as he remembered.  The morning he’d first met Montgomery Scott and the man had begged him to go after the gypsy man that had stolen his life’s work.  He had recovered the padd for him, and in the skirmish allowed the gypsy to flee unharmed.  He looked up at the man, amazed to recognize him. 

“In the interest of repaying a debt, we could let one of them go, perhaps?”

The Orion looked down at the prince and then the Vulcan.  After a moment, she tossed the book to the ground in front of Spock.  He tried to ignore the dust that the book’s landing stirred up in his face.  “Release the Vulcan,” she ordered.  “You have your book, now go.”  Spock rose clumsily to his feet, the book clutched against his chest.  She laughed again as she crouched beside the prince.  “Such gratitude he shows you.  You offered your cooperation for his release, and yet all he demands is a book.”  She looked back to Spock.  “You are still here.  Do you want to stay with us, after all?” 

Spock straightened his stance.  “I have demanded of you another thing.”

“Ah, yes,” she cooed at him, running her fingers through Jim’s hair like a tamed pet.  “You had the nerve to ask for transportation.” 

Jim looked up at Sybok, seeing the conflict in the Vulcan’s eyes.  He was glad that he was being allowed to leave, but if he pressed his luck, he would be recaptured.  “Sybok,” he said softly.  “Go back to the bike and wait there.  You’ll be okay.”  McCoy would arrive eventually, and when he only saw Sybok by the bike he would ask him what happened to Jim.  Hopefully, Sybok’s heightened Vulcan hearing would let him hear in which direction they take Jim – provided that they decided to blindfold the Vulcan.  Though, likely they would be too smart for that and would leave Sybok here unconscious only to wake up to a very angry Leonard McCoy and no knowledge to help recover him.  “Please,” he said. 

“I’ve released you, Sybok,” the Orion said, stressing the name the prince revealed.  “I have no means of transportation that I can offer you to satisfy your ridiculous demand for it.”

Spock nodded.  “Perhaps you would then offer something comparable instead?”

The Orion glared at him.  “Unless you see an animal or anything else you can ride wherever you wish to go, I don’t know what you would consider comparable.”

Spock did not dare look at the prince.  He did not wish to reveal a weakness like the prince had done with him.  “Perhaps goods in exchange.  Something of yours you consider valuable.” 

She viciously stuck her dagger into the ground.  Her voice dripped with venom as she sprang to her feet, and brought her face mere inches from Spock’s own.  “We’re gypsies, Sybok.  There is very little we have that’s actually valuable.  But!  Have it your way, little lord.”  She turned away and spread her arms in a silent command.  All of those in her group lowered their weapons and relaxed their stances.  “I will allow you to leave here with your book and anything else you can carry that you deem valuable.”

This was precisely what Spock wanted to hear.  “Do I have your word on that, Lady?” he used the same address that those in her company used.  Perhaps it would flatter her. 

The Orion looked at him suspiciously.  “Even though nobility tend not to believe even another lord’s word?  You have mine, Vulcan.  Your release, your book, and whatever you can carry away from here.”

Spock nodded.  He already knew his choice.  It had been simple to make, and he’d managed to convince the Orion gypsy to agree to his freedom on his terms.  All that was left was to demonstrate his choice, which he knew would likely surprise everyone present.  He pretended to look at each gypsy, taking in what they wore, what weapons they carried, if they had any food with them.  He walked about them just for show.  When he finally reached the Orion, he went to his knees, pretended to reach for her discarded dagger, but then abruptly altered direction.  In one fluid movement Spock lifted Prince James from the ground, slung him across his shoulders, and stood up again.  “I thank thee, Lady,” he said, politely, then turned and walked away. 

“Sybok, what are you doing?” Jim asked.  Of all things he had expected Sybok to choose when the Orion made her offer, Jim had certainly not expected to be carried away from this encounter. 

“I am saving your life, Your Highness,” he answered simply.

Jim stared for a moment at Spock, unable to thank him and unable to ease the tightness he felt in his chest.  “At least give me the book, so you don’t drop me.  Technically, you’re still carrying it.”  With his tied hands, he managed to grab the book.

They had made it a short distance from their gypsy captors when the uproarious laughter started.  Jim felt himself grow hot with embarrassment.  If anyone should have carried anyone out of this situation, it should have been him that carried Sybok.  He was the prince.  His pride was a little wounded, but he was still grateful for Sybok’s brilliant manipulation of the gypsy leader. 

“Wait!” she cried from well behind them.  “Vulcan!  Stop!”

Spock felt the prince tense.  “I have no intention of stopping,” he tried to reassure him. 

The Orion caught up to them and stood in front of Spock.  Unlike how he kept walking whenever the prince had pursued him, he stopped walking then.  The prince had never drawn his sword and pointed it at him, though, either, giving Spock a very good reason to stop.  “You are a most unusual Vulcan.  This man means this much to you?”

His answer came immediately, and it surprised even Spock.  “He does, Lady.” 

“My people call me Lady.  You, though, as the most impetuous Vulcan I have ever met deserve to know my name.”  She smiled brightly at Spock.  “I am Gaila.”

“Sybok,” Spock lied. 

Gaila looked at Jim, still slung across Spock’s shoulders.  “And don’t you bother lying.  I know you’re the prince.”  She looked back to Spock.  “You can put him down.  I’m not about to recapture either of you.”  Spock set Jim on his feet.  Gaila approached Jim.  “Now, hold still, Highness,” she said.  Within seconds she had sliced through Jim’s bindings on his hands and feet.  “That’s out of the way,” she said unnecessarily in Spock’s opinion. 

Gaila sheathed her dagger and then gave her attention to the prince.  “Have a meal with my people, Your Highness.  If you accept, I will provide a horse – only one, I’m afraid – to get you home, as a gift.”

Jim suspected something dishonest.  “What do you want in exchange?”

Gaila smiled mysteriously.  “Trust me, Your Highness.  We should speak.”  She did not wait for his answer before she returned to her people.  

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Dinner had long been served by Natasha and Pike.  Pavel had finally returned as his parents were clearing the remains of the meal from the dining room.  He’d brought back four overflowing large baskets of sugar apples, plums, and apricots.  Sulu had helped him bring them to a point just before anyone in the house would have been able to see them.  From that point on, it had all been Pavel that hauled the fruit into the house through the lower door that led into the kitchens.  “Is he back yet?” he asked breathlessly, winded from his quick harvesting.  “Did I get back first?”

“Yes, you did,” Natasha said. 

Pavel’s first instinct was to smile.  With him returning before Spock, at least their excuse for him would be a bit more believable.  But his mother’s tone in her reply worried him.  “Isn’t that a good thing?”

Natasha looked at her son worriedly.  “It’s past sunset, Pav.  Spock has never been gone this long from the house in his life.  What if something happened to him?”

Pavel shoved the baskets of fruit into the corner.  It didn’t matter where he put them, since the Viscount never came to the kitchens, and the only one of his daughters that ever visited here was Carol.  Even her appearances were uncommon.  He went to his mother.  “But the prince is with him,” he started to say, but stopped at the warning look she gave him.  “He won’t let anything happen to him because he cares about him.”

“We don’t know that for sure.”

Pavel shook his head.  “I saw them together by the river,” he reminded her.  “I saw what he looked like when he asked me where Spock lived.  I know he cares about him.” 

Natasha frowned, looking nervously at the stairs that led up toward the dining room.  “If he cared about him, he would have brought him home at a decent time.  He would’ve made sure Spock got home before the Viscount, so he didn’t suspect Spock of anything.  It was bad enough that the prince didn’t meet Janice in town, but with Spock also gone?” 

Pavel began to understand her worry.  Then he realized something very important.  “But, mom, the prince doesn’t know Spock isn’t a lord.  He doesn’t know what it would mean if Spock wasn’t home by now.  How could he know?”

Natasha just shook her head.  A summoning bell rang.  It was the Viscount in need of something.  Where was her husband?  Oh, yes.  He was outside bringing in logs for the night.  She went outside to find him.  “The Viscount’s calling for you.”

Pike looked at her, trying to hide his own concern from her.  “Is Spock back yet?”

She felt her expression darken.  “No.”

Pike sighed.  “I don’t know what else we can do to hide it.” 

“Not even Spock would be at the orchards after dark.” 

He picked up the bundle of logs he’d secured and headed inside.  “That boy is smarter than this.  He knows better.”

Natasha’s anger flared.  “You were the one to tell him he deserves better.”

“He does, my Number One.  You know that as much as I do.”

Natasha spoke before she thought.  “But not at the extent of this family.”

Pike dropped the logs and rounded on his wife for the first time in many, many years.  “He risked his life to bring me back here.  I could’ve been God knows where if he hadn’t pretended to be nobility to save my life.  I could have been dead.  But because of Spock, I was able to come home to my family, not die somewhere far away from them.  If he’d been caught or found out, we would have lost him forever.  And that could still happen if that bastard Klingon gets what he wants and takes Spock from us.”  He stabbed his wife with his anger-incensed eyes.  “I would rather die than hand Spock over to Hegh.  I would rather the Viscount break both my legs and both of my hands for lying to him about how Spock’s been meeting with the very prince he’s setting his daughter to marry.  I’ll do whatever I have to so that Spock stays safe, and that the Viscount’s horrible daughter isn’t made a princess.”  He picked up the logs again, angrily.  “After he saved my life, I’ll do whatever I can to save his, whatever that means, and by whatever means I have.” 

Natasha stood outside, watching her husband limp furiously into the house with the logs.  Of course she would be forever grateful to Spock for bringing her husband home to her, but she didn’t want to lose her family over Spock’s ill-fated romance with a man with whom he could never be.  As night descended, she realized that she had been crying. 

Christopher Pike went into the Viscount’s chambers.  “You called for me, Viscount?” he asked outside of the open door before he entered. 

“My fire needs feeding,” the lord of the house said sharply.  He stood looking out of the window.  It faced to the north of the property.  Pike worried that Prince James would bring Spock home through the main gate.  If he did, and the Viscount remained at his window like this, he would see Spock with the prince, and everything would fall to ruin. 

Pike turned and began to tend the fire, putting the additional logs nearby.  He froze at the Viscount’s next words.  “I want to be told the instant that half-breed comes home.  Whatever this little rebellion of his is about, it will not go unpunished.” 

Pike swallowed, trying to find his voice.  He didn’t know what the Viscount intended to do to Spock for this.  He needed to reply.  He swallowed his own fear as best as he could.  “Yes, Viscount,” he said.  “As soon as Spock returns, you will know of it.”

The Viscount turned then to face Pike.  “Normally, I would not wish to be disturbed once I retire for the night, but in this case, you will wake me no matter the hour the half-breed returns, do you understand?”

“I do, Viscount,” Pike confirmed. 

“Good, now close the shades so that I will get some rest before you have to disturb me.”  Pike had never been happier to close the curtains to this particular window in his life.  It meant that the Viscount would most likely not witness Spock returning with the prince.  It was a small blessing.  He just hoped that Spock returned soon. 

He turned and the Viscount had already begun preparing for bed, unusually not asking for assistance.  Typically, Spock assisted the Viscount in his preparation for sleep.    Pike had assumed he would have helped the Viscount in Spock’s absence.  That he had not even been asked made him wonder what exactly the Viscount’s motive was in this instant.  Perhaps, he only asked for Spock to remind him daily of his place in his own house.  The thought saddened and yet did not surprise Pike.  He did not doubt that the Viscount asked for Spock to serve him simply to remind him that the boy’s stepfather, a man who should have cared for him, made him insignificant in his childhood home. 

“You’re still here, Pike.”  He heard the Viscount’s dismissal underneath those words.  Pike bowed to the Viscount and went to the door.  “Remember, as soon as the bastard is home, I wish to know.  I will learn where he went.  No amount of fruit your son brings to the house to cover for his absence will convince me that he was in the orchards at all today.  He went somewhere.  And I will find out where one way or another.” 

Pike closed the Viscount’s door after he left, sickened.  His nausea increased with every step he’d taken from the Viscount’s rooms.  His feet took him down two floors to the kitchens.  He distantly registered his wife’s worried and guilty expression before he was out the door and outside again.  A moment after he’d left the house, he fell to his knees, coughing.  Seconds later, he vomited what he’d eaten last, heaving violently.  Pike felt his wife’s presence at his side before she put her hand on his back.  It only made him heave again.  “He knows,” he just managed to gasp. 

Natasha stiffened.  “The Viscount,” she whispered, terrified. 

“That we lied.”  Pike coughed, trying not to vomit again.  “That Pav covered for him.”

Natasha grabbed his shoulder hard.  “Does he know about the prince?”

Pike shook his head, spitting the foul taste from his mouth.  “No.  But if Spock keeps this going—”

“—then he will know.”

Pike reached back and took his wife’s hand.  “Spock has to tell him the truth.  Put his fate in the prince’s hands.”

Natasha went to her knees at Pike’s side.  “And if the prince does what the law demands he must do to Spock?  Imprison him, or kill him?”

Pike very nearly vomited again.  “Then nothing will matter.”

Natasha understood that they could do nothing more for Spock.  Now that the Viscount suspected something, and suspected their involvement, he would be watching all of them closely.  Very soon, all of their lives would be determined by Prince James’s decisions, and whether he loved Spock or not.


	9. Solutions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. This chapter is (I think) the longest one, and the most tricky one for me to write. But I wanted to try to get it posted on Valentine's Day as a present to everyone still reading. Enjoy, everyone! ~ RK

There were several smaller fires scattered about the camp of Lady Gaila’s people and just as many tents pitched about the area the group claimed as their own for the evening.  Upon their arrival, Gaila announced their guests – Prince James and S’haile Sybok – who were studied briefly and silently by everyone before they were graciously welcomed.  To both of their surprise, Lady Gaila’s people consisted of a wide variety of species.  Jim had expected there to be an overwhelming number of Orions and Humans, but as he looked around he saw that there were many others.  Romulans conversed with Tellarites at one fire pit, while an Andorian, a Klingon, and another Romulan leaned closely in to each other speaking quietly, conspiringly.  So intrigued was Jim by the ease in which these many species lived together, spoke together, and dined together that he did not notice that his own Vulcan guest had assisted a skinny Orion boy in quickly starting a fire for the two of them.  Moments afterward, Gaila commanded that food be brought to their guests.  Jim and Spock were given bowls of hearty stew, warmed bread, and a skin of wine.  “We will speak after you’ve eaten, gentlemen,” Gaila had said to them before she went off among her own people, leaving Jim and Spock on their own with their small fire to eat their meal.

Jim realized immediately that the stew contained meat.  After being warned repeatedly by Miss Uhura about the Vulcan people’s aversion to meat, he became highly aware each time he ate meat.  He didn’t want to offend T’sai T’Pring, after all, by chomping on a roast chicken leg during their wedding feast, no matter how delicious he found them.  He’d coordinated with Miss Uhura that no meat would be served on the date of his marriage to T’Pring.  He glanced at the bowl in Sybok’s hands, seeing the chunks – of what he guessed was probably turkey or some other kind of wild bird – and acted impulsively.  He took up his spoon and dipped it into the Vulcan’s stew. 

“What are you doing?” Spock asked.  The prince had his own dinner.  Was it not a sufficient amount?  Jim froze and looked at him nervously.  Perhaps the prince was accustomed to eating more than this.  Spock, by contrast, had rarely eaten much more than this at one time.  “Do you want mine as well, Your Highness?”

Jim was confused.  Didn’t he realize what he was doing?  “You don’t eat meat, so I was just—”

Spock understood.  “Oh, yes.”

Jim wondered if Sybok did, in fact, eat meat.  He did teach him earlier how to kiss in the Vulcan traditional manner.  Maybe Sybok did not follow the practice of vegetarianism either.  “Do you eat meat?”

“No, Your Highness.  I do not.  I cannot digest it properly.” 

Jim sighed in relief.  “Oh, okay, good.”  He enthusiastically scooped out the chunks of meat from Spock’s stew and put them in his own, not minding the splashing of the liquid. 

Spock wondered why that would be a good thing.  His inability to digest meat had always been something that contributed to his inferiority in the Viscount’s reckoning.  It made him weaker than a Human.  When he had been a child, Spock had tried to eat some of the chicken breast that a very fussy Janice did not finish.  Pike and Natasha refused to discard it.  They ate what the Marcus family did not finish.  However, Spock had struggled through the cooked flesh of the chicken as Pike and Natasha were upstairs in the dining room while Spock remained in the kitchens to watch the infant Pavel to be sure he remained safe.  Pike had come downstairs to find Spock eating the chicken.

 

_“Spock, what are you doing?”  Pike hurried to him, picked him up and brought him through the door to the outside.  He set him down on the bench near the door.  “You’re sweating,” he said unnecessarily.  “How much did you eat?”_

_Twelve-year-old Spock began to shake.  He’d angered Pike, clearly, but he could not lie to him.  “Half,” he answered, ashamed at the unsteadiness in his voice._

_“Don’t move,” Pike ordered as he ran back into the house._

_Spock began to cry.  He wanted the Viscount to love him.  And if that meant he had to be more Human, than Spock would do that.  That meant he needed to act like a Human, and speak like a Human, and eat the things that Humans ate.  After all, his stepfather had told him that his half-breed heritage put him at a disadvantage of belonging nowhere.  But if he rejected everything about himself that was Vulcan – aside from things he could not change physically – then wouldn’t that make him worthy and acceptable in Viscount Marcus’s esteem?  With his mother gone, and his father long since deceased, Spock craved the attentions and affection of his stepfather.  So, he ate the chicken that the man had not finished._

_When Pike returned, he was accompanied by Tyler Barnett, another servant of the household.  “You said he ate the chicken?” he asked Pike, who nodded.  Tyler knelt in front of Spock, touching his forehead gently.  He frowned.  “He’s very pale, and he’s going to be very sick.”  To Spock, Tyler said, “Master Spock, I need you to open your mouth for me.  Can you do that?”_

_Spock nodded and did as he was told.  He felt Pike’s hand on his shoulder._

_Through his tears, he could barely make out Tyler’s face. “Forgive me, Master Spock, but I have to do something that will induce vomiting.”  Spock nodded.  Tyler tilted Spock’s head downward, then shifted his position to the side of Spock’s knees.  “This will be unpleasant.  I’m sorry.”  Tyler inserted his index and middle fingers into Spock’s mouth until they touched the uvula.  Seconds after the contact, Spock began to convulse.  Pike helped him lean further forward as Spock felt himself bringing up the chicken he’d just eaten._

_Tyler made him vomit a second time to be certain he’d brought everything up, and then he left to clean his hands.  Spock stared at the mess below him through his tears of exhaustion.  Pike, paying no attention to the vomit, sat beside the young Vulcan, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.  “Why on Terra did you eat chicken?”_

_Spock did not want to tell him.  “It was foolish,” he admitted._

_Pike shook his head and pulled Spock closer against his side.  “I won’t deny that,” he said.  Pike turned into the boy and cradled Spock’s head against his chest.  “But I asked why you did it.”_

_Spock’s vision blurred again as fresh tears came.  “My stepfather said that I am weak because I cannot eat animal flesh.  That he is ashamed of someone like me.  I just want him to like me.  Mother—” he choked on the word referring to the one person he wanted with him more than anyone.  “—told me he would.”_

_The head servant kissed his charge’s hair tenderly.  “If he can’t see the wonderful boy you are, Spock, then nothing you do will convince him to see that.”_

 

Spock did not understand Pike’s words completely when he had been a child still grieving for his mother.  But during the last several days in Prince James’s company, Spock began to understand what Pike had meant, and it only increased Spock’s guilt for lying about his identity to the prince.  How could he tell him the truth now?  It had gone on too long.  He had lied for too long.  Spock looked out among the camp, gazing at the different species of people speaking to each other.  Fleetingly, Spock wanted to join them.  Surely his half-breed heritage would be meaningless here.  It would not matter who he was or where he came from.  He could be either Sybok or Spock and it would not matter.  Yet it mattered to Prince James.  Spock wished that it did not.  He knew he could not live this lie forever.  Spock closed his eyes and prepared his words of confession.

He looked back to the prince, who was now, carefully transferring some of the vegetables from his own stew into Spock’s bowl.  He had traded his own vegetables for Spock’s meat.  Prince James looked at Spock with a satisfied smile and announced, “There.  We’re even now.”  Then, he took his first spoonful of the stew. 

Swallowing his own spoonful proved to be a struggle, especially after those words from the prince.  They could never be even.  He was a servant.  James was as far from him as another could be.  Spock turned away from the prince as he took a drink from the wine skin.  He tried to control his emotions, his guilt.  The second spoonful went down easier, and his control strengthened.  By the time he’d managed nearly seven swallows of his meal, Spock reached a level of stability enough to feel he could tell the prince the truth. 

“This is incredible, isn’t it?” the prince said before Spock could speak.  He looked at Prince James helplessly. 

Jim gestured with his spoon to the various people littering the camp.  “It’s like everyone is equal here.  There’s no one more important than anyone else.”  He looked at each group gathered around each small fire in wonder.  Klingons speaking with Tellarites, and Orions and Andorians laughing together.  His eyes lingered on a Romulan male speaking softly in the ear of a Human woman.  “Look at that,” he whispered, as though his normal tone would disturb them. 

Spock looked in the direction of the prince’s gaze to the Romulan and the Human, struck at once with an ache he had not felt since his mother’s death.  Is that an image similar to what his parents would have made? 

Jim turned away from the obvious couple to look at his companion, immediately seeing the deep longing in his eyes and his expression.  Emboldened, Jim ran his fingers gently down Sybok’s sleeve, unsure if the Vulcan would even feel it.  “There’s so much potential,” he whispered, growing more certain that he wanted to have this discussion with Sybok more than he ever had with anyone else. 

Spock found himself speaking without thinking on a response.  “But so little possibility of advancement.”  He knew the prince spoke of whatever was growing between them emotionally.  He had to reject the prince’s advances.  He could not do this anymore, to himself or his family – Pike, Natsaha, and Pavel.  Spock would not permit them to suffer for his inability to control his own emotions.  His feelings for the prince had developed unexpectedly quickly for him.  He had not been prepared for the onslaught of emotions within him.  No matter what the prince felt for him, Spock knew he felt them for Sybok and not for Spock.  He had to stop pretending. 

“What do you mean?” Jim asked, watching Sybok’s face.  He could see some kind of struggle but he had no idea what caused it.  Surely, Sybok returned his affections, otherwise he wouldn’t have let Jim kiss him earlier, would he? 

Spock tried to come up with something to say.  “Among the people,” he strung together feebly, then desperately trying to develop it.  “This camp seems so wondrous because everyone is able to be whatever they wish.  It is not so among your subjects, your people.” 

Jim had been hoping to begin a much different conversation than this.  “You’re criticizing the social classes among my father’s subjects, aren’t you?”  Sybok must be nervous.  If avoiding the conversation Jim truly wanted to have with him for a little while would put him more at ease, then Jim was willing to do that.  Perhaps Jim had been too forward when he’d kissed him in the Royal Library.  He regretted stealing the kisses while they were on the bike, too.  Maybe he was progressing too quickly for Sybok.  Jim frowned to himself.  He didn’t have the time for a proper courtship.  He needed to know if Sybok felt about him in the same way that he felt about Sybok and soon, or he had no idea what he should do, who he should decide to take his chances on and wed.  He didn’t want a loveless marriage.  He wanted Sybok.  But if Sybok didn’t want him…

“Not criticizing,” Spock corrected.  “Commenting.”  He looked out among the gypsies again.  “These people are defined by nothing but their community in which they live.  Even their leader, Lady Gaila, behaves as though she is one of them.  Among her own, she does not seek privilege or accolades.” 

Jim studied him, waiting for the tension to leave him.  “So you want me to lead a rebellion?  Total reform of our social structure?”

Spock shook his head.  “Of course not.”  He looked down at his now cooled stew.  He had only eaten half of it.  His insides were knotted by his guilt and shame of his secret he kept too long from the prince.  He could not yet speak the truth bluntly, but perhaps he could hint at it.  Perhaps the prince would understand what he could only try to tell him.  “But as the future king, you could encourage those individuals with noted potential that exceeds their station to flourish.  You could offer some sort of way for them to elevate themselves.”  Finally, Spock met Prince James’s kind blue eyes.  “So that they were not forever defined by their given circumstances, and thus enable them to rise from the place in which they were born, to become more than they were thought to be.” 

Jim realized that Sybok was not just speaking of the people of Terra, but something else – something that Sybok refused to specify.  He saw the uneasiness, the tension, in his Vulcan companion and decided to listen to his instincts.  “You’ve lived among Humans, but you’re a Vulcan.  You’re not stuck or defined.”  He knew that Sybok was the most unique Vulcan he’d ever met.  He’d broken every preconceived notion he’d ever had about Vulcans with every word he spoke and every action he took.  He defied the definition of Vulcan. 

“I am still defined,” Spock protested, lowering his head as he heard the Viscount’s voice in his mind.  _Half-breed._ He was defined by his position as a servant. 

Jim didn’t like seeing Sybok looking so sad.  He coaxed Sybok’s head up by gently hooking his fingers beneath the Vulcan’s chin.  He looked into Sybok’s eyes, wishing he could make that sadness vanish.  “A week ago my brother abdicated the throne.  I found out in a letter he sent to me and my parents.  He’d go off on hunting trips a lot, and wouldn’t return for a day or two.  That was normal, though, so we didn’t think anything of it.”  No one other than his family and Bones knew about the circumstances of Sam’s disappearance and later abdication.  He wanted to tell Sybok that he, too, had been defined from the moment of his birth.  “About a month ago, I got a letter from him.  He’d been injured in one of his trips.  He usually only took one of his guards with him.”  He smiled to himself, remembering his brother’s easy confidence.  “He said a large party would make too much noise and scare off his prize stag.”  He sobered as he thought of the events that came next.  “In his letter, he told me that they’d both been injured during the hunt, and he’d lost consciousness in the woods.  When he woke up, he was being tended to by some people who were giving him every kindness and that he would let me know that he was okay.

“I had to tell my father and mother, and they were worried.  After all, their older son and heir was injured somewhere they didn’t know.  He was, in essence, missing.  So, as any concerned royal parents would do, they sent out search parties for him.”  Jim sighed, instantly reliving the weeks of his mother’s hysterical worry, and his father’s expectations of a ransom demand.  “They never found him, and we never heard from him again until about a week ago.” 

 

_He broke the seal on the paper and brought it to his lantern lit on his desk.  ‘My dearest brother,’ the writing addressed him.  It was from Sam.  He sat in his chair, relief at finally hearing from his older brother overwhelming him.  ‘I am doing well and am near fully recovered.  I do not know how else to tell you this, and all that has happened since being wounded.  While I was injured, I was tended to by a young woman named Aurelan.  She has kept me company, and we have grown to know each other well during my convalescing.  Jim, I fell in love with her and she with me.  Now, I am forced to make a decision.  It is not one I ever could have anticipated needing to make, nor is it one I ever wanted to choose.  I am not making this decision to hurt our parents, and especially not to hurt you, Jim.  I never thought I would be in this position, but now that I am, I think the choice is very easy.’_

_Jim could no longer stay seated, his relief gone as he continued reading.  Dread overcame him, and he knew what his brother’s next words would contain.  ‘I’m abdicating the throne.  I know you never would have wanted it, and for that reason I am sorry.  I know my reasons probably seem weak to you, and that our parents will probably only see them that way.  I can’t turn back from this, either.  I married Aurelan last night.  You and I both know that our father would never accept a match with someone whose station is so profoundly below royalty.  I love her, and that matters more to me than being a prince ever could.  Forgive me, brother.  One day, you’ll understand.’   It had simply been signed ‘Sam.’_

_The letter fell from his hand and fluttered to his desk.  It could not be.  How could his brother do this to him?  He never wanted to rule Terra.  It was never his fate.  He wanted to fly and explore the stars.  He looked out of his window.  His rooms were suffocating him a moment later.  If he left now, maybe he still could see the stars – or at least some of them – before he was dragged back to the palace to take his brother’s place as heir to the Terran Throne._

 

“I climbed out of my window down a trail of anything I could tie together.  I wasn’t supposed to be the crown prince.  I wasn’t supposed to rule one day.  That was always supposed to be Sam.”  He looked into Sybok’s eyes, and felt the same sadness that shone in those dark eyes.  Jim could have been with him had Sam stayed and did his duty.  Sybok was right in front of him, and all Jim could feel was Sybok slipping further away from him.  “I’m actually jealous of Sam,” Jim confessed.  “He changed his destiny and gave it to me.  And because he did that, I feel like I’m stuck here, in his place, to be the prince everyone expected him to be.” 

Spock shook his head.  Prince James had no concept of how simple a thing it was for someone in his position to make things change.  Someone like Spock could never hope to change anything.  “You are able to shape your environment, your goals and circumstances to fit your position – to fit who you are.  Unlike so many others in this world, you are not forced to change who you are in order to justify that you belong in a place that you desire to be.  There are so many who would give anything in order to have that kind of control – that choice – over their lives.”  Spock desperately wanted to tell the prince the truth – that he had done exactly that the day they spoke in the courtyard of the palace.  Spock had to redefine himself, had to assign himself a whole new identity in order to avoid imprisonment for being on the Royal Grounds.  He would never have gotten through the gates had he arrived as Spock.  He would have failed in his goal of rescuing Christopher Pike.  Instead, in order to achieve this goal Spock had to become S’haile Sybok of Vulcan, a noble identity that no one would question.  He could never have foreseen that this decision, this deception, would have led him here.  “You are fortunate in countless ways that you may never understand, ways about which others, including the people with whom we are sharing our meal, can only dream.”  In only a few more minutes, Spock could make the prince understand what he struggled to say. 

“We’re both trapped, aren’t we?”  Jim sighed, strangely overcome by admiration for the Vulcan before him and by a blossoming affection he did not want to ignore.  Finally, he understood why his brother abdicated and left his life behind for someone with whom he fell in love.  He set his bowl aside, and then took away Sybok’s to place it near his own.  “I don’t want to stay trapped like this, not when you’re this close to me.”  Jim, purposefully and without hesitation, ran his fingers of both of his hands down those of Sybok’s index and middle fingers. 

Spock permitted it, wanting to feel the warmth of Prince James’s feelings for him.  Before he realized he had done it, Spock moved his fingers against the prince’s hands, watching in fascination as the Human’s fingers chased his, seeking kiss after kiss.  Then, the prince began to laugh softly, though it did not sound joyful.  When Spock looked at him, he saw the mixture of sadness and contentedness in the prince’s face. 

Jim knew in the way that Sybok shyly reciprocated the kiss that their feelings were the same.  He knew that Sybok could feel his deepening affection for him.  Jim knew, watching Sybok’s fingers follow his as they instinctively yet almost consciously sought to continue the kiss, that Sybok felt as he did.  “You know, I learned Vulcan rituals for you so I could court you properly with your people’s traditions.”  He took the opportunity in the conversation to introduce the topic he wanted to discuss with Sybok ever since he answered the door this afternoon. 

The statement made Spock duck his head in order to try to hide his blush.  He was grateful for the inadequate lighting of their little fire.  “I would not have noticed their absence had you chosen not to learn.”

Jim laughed and stopped trailing his fingers along Sybok’s, opting instead to weave their fingers and press the palms of their hands together.  He delighted in the shiver this produced in Sybok.  “So I could have courted you like a Human this whole time?” he asked through his laughter. 

Spock felt his face continue to heat.  “I suppose, yes.”  He ducked his head further, unwilling to reveal the discoloration of his cheeks.  “And I am honored that you believed me worth the effort.”  The prince squeezed his hands and he felt the pleasure of that contact go through his arms and warm his entire body. 

“So, can I?” Jim asked, breaking the momentary silence between them. 

Spock did not understand the question.  When he did not understand, he tried to read facial clues.  This meant he had to look at the prince, who would see his blushing.  Spock no longer cared.  “Can you what?” he asked. 

Jim didn’t answer right away.  He looked down at their hands, untangling one pair so that he could watch Sybok chase his touch again.  He curled his first two fingers around Sybok’s corresponding digits and then raised their finger embrace to chest level.  “How did you put it?” he asked rhetorically.  “I think you said ‘a joining of lips,’ right?”

“You speak of the Human practice of kissing,” Spock stated. He looked at their embracing fingers, studying the position, trying to understand why this action caused a different emotion in him.  With their palms together, Spock had felt overpowering pleasure, but with this gesture he felt warmth surround his heart in his side.  They were two different reactions, both pleasant, though one seemed to carry more of a physical sensation while the other held a more emotional sensation. 

“Yes,” the prince confirmed.  Spock looked up to find the prince gazing at him.  He was nervous.  “Is that okay?”

The answer came easily.  “Yes.”  Spock had expected the prince to smile at his given permission, but he seemed to grow more nervous instead. 

Jim licked his lips and freed his hands from Sybok’s so that he could experience his people’s way of kissing without feeling the sensation of the ozh’esta.  He reached up to slide his hand to curl around the side of Sybok’s throat.  He did not pull Sybok to him, but he did prevent any retreat he would have made.  He was able to feel if Sybok changed his mind should the muscles in his neck tense. 

They never did. 

Spock didn’t know how to respond as the prince’s lips came together with his own.  He was too overcome by the combination of emotional and physical sensation to do anything.  And so he simply allowed the prince to kiss him in any way he wished.  He watched the emotions dance in what he could see of the prince’s expression.  The Human’s eyes were closed, though.  Should he have closed his?  Spock had no idea.  The prince shifted his position against his lips, but did not increase the strength of the kiss.  All too soon for Spock, Prince James pulled away. 

Jim looked at Sybok anxiously.  “What do you think?”

Spock wet his lips.  “It is pleasant,” he said. 

“Pleasant?”  That wasn’t exactly the word he’d hoped for.  Sybok had politely called his kissing adequate, which was not a compliment in Jim’s opinion.  He tried to smile to ease his own discomfort in that moment.  “But not good.”

Spock realized what his words had implied to the prince.  “You misunderstand, Your Highness,” he said as he half-mirrored the prince’s position, daring to place his hand along the line of the man’s jaw, learning the feel of the scruff there with his thumb.  “It is a new experience and I find that I am overwhelmed by the sensation of it.” 

Jim looked down, thinking he had pushed Sybok into something he wasn’t ready to feel.  His morose thoughts fled the instant he felt the hesitant and shy touch of Sybok’s lips against his.   The Vulcan’s kiss inflamed him.  With his right hand still at Sybok’s throat, Jim brought up his left to thread his fingers into the long, dark hair of the Vulcan to cradle the back of his head, silently telling him not to pull away.  That he wanted this.  He came closer to the Vulcan, hoping he wouldn’t scare him off, hoping Sybok wanted this as much as he did.  As soon as he felt Sybok hesitantly touch the fabric over his chest, Jim knew he felt the same.  “Yes,” he assured Sybok against the Vulcan’s lips.  “Yes.”

Spock curled his hand into the prince’s shirt and pulled him to him, seeking out the Human’s lips with his own.  The prince’s hand left his throat and came around his body to pull him forward.  They crashed into each other, their fervor making them breathless, with no other choice but to separate long enough to gasp just enough air before they came together again.  They did not explore each other with their hands.  They steadied and supported the other as their lips did the exploring.  When the prince requested entrance with his tongue to further his own exploration, Spock gave his permission with a soft moan.  He did not know how long they kissed, and it did not matter.  Nothing mattered except this moment. 

Jim groaned into the kiss as Sybok allowed him to deepen their kiss, wanting to hear it again after wondering and imagining what Sybok would sound like in passion for the last several days.  He’d dreamed of what Sybok’s lips would taste like since he ran from him and the palace.  He no longer had to dream or imagine.  Jim pressed Sybok against him and held him close, everything around him disappearing from his awareness in this moment, as nothing else mattered to him. 

But someone had another idea.  A male shouted loudly in wordless manner that expressed his approval of their actions.  A moment after this male’s voice rose and called attention to them, several of the gypsies around their fires joined in vocally or applauded.  The raucous made Jim and Spock separate in their self-consciousness.  Jim looked around, seeing their hosts gesturing at them, laughing merrily, or clapping.  Not one looked upon them with disapproval.  Jim smiled and looked back at Sybok, expecting the Vulcan to look mortified at their breach of decorum.  Instead he gazed upon a furiously green-blushing, hair slightly disheveled, and endearingly grinning Vulcan lord.  Sybok was embarrassed, but not completely uncomfortable.  Jim smiled brightly at Sybok and reached for him.  He brought him against his chest and tucked his head and his blush away from the view of the gypsies.  Jim smiled out at all of them, and then placed a reassuring, comforting kiss into Sybok’s messy hair. 

The gypsy that had called attention to them in the first place sat two small fires from them, most of his body hidden by a long and mud-splotched coat, including his features due to the hood he’d pulled far forward.  Beside him sat a young and pretty human girl.  She looked about Jim’s age, perhaps a little younger.  Her hair was coppery-auburn and incredibly curly, and her eyes shone with mischievous approval.  “You shouldn’t have teased them, dearest,” she chided the man next to her, playfully smacking the back of his head. 

He easily caught her hand before she could withdraw it fully.  Using his grip on her, he pulled her towards him, catching her as she fell across his legs, looking up at his face still shielded by his hood.  “I wasn’t teasing,” he insisted.  “I was congratulating.” 

Jim watched, unable to know what he felt, as the couple kissed tenderly.  As soon as he heard the man laugh after their kiss ended, Jim knew what he’d experienced.  A mixture of suspicion and hope.  “Oh my God,” he mumbled.  The laughter had made him certain.  “Sam?” he asked, his voice breaking on the fragile hope of his brother’s name. 

Spock stiffened against the prince, recognizing the name said in shock.  Surely they had not found the abdicated prince here in this camp.  He turned his head against the prince’s chest to look in the direction of the male gypsy that had called attention to their Human kissing.  He had been grateful to the prince for trying to hide his furious blush, but it had not been necessary.  Still, the prince’s actions were thoughtful and endearing.  Spock relaxed against the prince’s chest and within the man’s arms, content for now to watch events unfold. 

The gypsy laughed boisterously as he flung away his hood with a flourish, a familiar smile stretching his mouth, and the long-missed sparkle of defiance in his hazel eyes.  His long hair lost its ordered manner, and his facial hair no longer kept its trimmed state, but the man still looked like his brother.  “Welcome, brother,” the man said, never losing his smile.  “I had not expected a visit so soon after my departure, I admit.”  Spock found himself studied by the former crown prince.  “You’ve chosen a good mate, Jimmy.” 

His words made the younger brother rigid.  Spock took advantage of the prince’s surprise to speak.  “He is not my mate.”

Those five words made Sam Kirk’s brows climb his forehead.  He stood and mockingly bowed.  “Forgive me, S’haile Sybok,” he said, using the name with which Lady Gaila had introduced the Vulcan.  “It’s very unusual for a Vulcan to be as openly affectionate as you have been with my brother.” 

Jim tried to think of something that would salvage the situation, or that would silence his older brother.  But worse than his brother’s words were what Sybok had just said.  It was true, they were not mates, nor were they engaged, but it was something Jim wished to remedy in the very near future.  Sybok had welcomed his kisses – both Vulcan and Human – but he protested the idea of being mistaken for being Jim’s intended.  He tightened his hold around Sybok as the Vulcan began to pull away.  He would never forgive his brother if Sybok ran from him now. 

Spock settled back into the prince’s embrace only when the former prince Sam helped the girl next to him to her feet and escorted her to where Jim and Spock were before their small fire.  Sam’s smile was charming and content as he nodded to Jim.  “May I present my wife, Aurelan.”  The prince nodded in acknowledgment.  Sam turned to her.  “My love, this is my brother, now Crown Prince James Tiberius Kirk.” 

Spock felt the prince tense instantly.  When he spoke, the warmth in his voice had turned to ice.  “Crown Prince thanks to you abandoning your family and your responsibility.” 

Sam only inclined his head in gracious agreement.  He gave his attention to his young wife.  “Love, will you excuse us?”  Aurelan nodded, then turned to leave, only to be stopped by her husband.  “Show S’haile Sybok to our tent where he may rest should he wish it.”

Spock did not wish it, but a quiet reassurance from the prince told him that the Human wanted to speak with his brother alone.  Spock nodded to him, and the prince loosened his arms around him, allowing him to leave.  As he followed Aurelan away from the Kirk brothers, Spock felt the chill of the evening air that he had not noticed nuzzled against the prince. 

Sam lowered himself to sit comfortably in the place Jim’s Vulcan had vacated.  It would allow them to speak quietly, providing that Jim didn’t lose his temper.  The younger brother had always been the more temperamental of the two.  Jim had been allowed that leeway being the second son.  Sam had been restricted to being proper at all times.  He had envied Jim’s ability to go off exploring and riding when he wished.  Sam was confined to his studies of treaty negotiations, of traditional swordsmanship, of languages, of etiquette in court, etiquette in receptions and banquets, etiquette always.  Always proper, always the living perception of what a prince was expected to be.  His brother had been free to pursue his passions and desires and interests.  Sam never had that freedom, and he had wanted it.  Now that Jim no longer had that freedom anymore, and had experienced what his older brother had lived for over two decades, Sam knew that Jim understood how he had felt, and maybe why he had made the decision he did in the end.  “You see the appeal of freedom, brother.”

Jim looked at Sam and saw the easy contentment in his whole body, most especially his smile and his eyes.  “It seems you succumbed to that appeal.”  He could understand why Sam had physically.  Aurelan was a beautiful young lady.  Despite the position in which Sam had placed him, Jim could find it in himself to be happy for his older brother.  Sam had never truly been happy as far as Jim could remember.  But here, in the midst of a gypsy camp, Sam looked happy for the first time.  

Sam nodded slowly.  “I made a choice,” he said, seriously.  “And it was a difficult choice.  I didn’t make it lightly.”  He looked to his wife, his Aurelan, and his brother’s guest.  Sam watched as Aurelan led Sybok to a distant tent and drew aside the flap.  Sybok ducked his head and preceded her into the tent.  When he looked back to Jim, he saw the longing clearly in his blue eyes.  “Jim, if you love this Vulcan, what’s stopping you from keeping him?” 

Jim answered, but there was no enmity in his tone.  “Duty.  The duty you left to me.”

Sam’s smile turned sympathetic.  “I didn’t let duty stop me.”  Jim’s eyes hardened, causing Sam to scramble to avoid a fight.  “Besides, I never liked court much anyway.”

It made Jim snort in disbelief.  “Are you kidding?  You loved the attention that came with court.”

Sam shook his head as he began to counter Jim.  “But I had no interest in the edict-making and the politics of it.  You’ve always had the sharper eye for that than I ever did.”  A shadow fell over Jim’s expression, and it worried Sam that he had said something wrong.  “What is it?”

Jim thought about when he had walked with Lady Janice, the day his servants failed to switch out the food he’d intended to use in a courtship ritual with Sybok.  He thought of what had angered him that day.  His frown deepened.  “The other day,” he said slowly, lowering his voice, “in the market, I overheard some things – terrible things.  I had the one who said it tracked.” 

This unnerved Sam, not just because of the information Jim had shared, but because of how deeply this disturbed his younger brother.  “Who was it?” he asked. 

Jim looked at him, the detestation burning in his eyes.  “QumwI’ Veqlargh Hegh.”

Sam was not surprised.  He remembered this particular individual well, though not fondly.  “The Klingon,” he confirmed. 

Jim nodded, looking down at his clenched hands, thus missing his brother’s subtle and knowing smile.  “Nothing’s happened yet but I’m still having him discreetly watched.”  He huffed in disgust.  “I can’t understand why someone so vile is permitted in court.”  

Sam shrugged.  “So dismiss him.”

Jim looked back to his brother.  “I plan to.” 

His smile grew, but for an entirely different reason than the satisfaction of Jim’s resolve.  “See?” he said, jovially.  “You are better suited to this leading and ruling the people than I am.”

Jim’s anger dissolved into brief laughter.  “That’s not exactly a comfort, Sam.” 

His brother’s gaze wandered briefly to the tent which Aurelan had led Sybok.  His wife was standing with her adoptive mother, Lady Gaila, across the camp.  Gaila had been only a child herself when Lady Marta, their leader, had returned with the infant Human girl that had been abandoned near the end of winter behind a butcher’s shop.  Lady Marta had gone with some of the clan to trade a few of their crafts for money and food when she heard the commotion the dogs made.  When she went to look, the infant girl had only just fallen to the ground, and the dogs about to set upon her.  Lady Marta snatched the girl up, taking the bite to her leg herself in the process, and brought her home.  The dog, however, had been killed by one of the men accompanying Lady Marta.  They did not waste it.  The very next day had been a clear sky with bright sunlight, welcoming Spring.  In honor of the warm and bright golden sunlight that day, Lady Marta named the infant Aurelan.  What resulted for Marta was a poorly healed wound on her leg, which compromised her ability to take part in the more active duties. Her people did not abandon her, nor did anyone usurp her.  It was because of Lady Marta that they continued to thrive – they owed her their protection.  The infant girl remained among their family, Lady Marta’s daughter, Gaila, taking it upon herself to both care for her mother and to help raise the child.  After Lady Marta’s death, Aurelan had called Lady Gaila her mother.  The title had stuck between them. 

Sam looked back to Jim whose gaze never left the tent.  As much as the topic may incense Jim, they needed to discuss it.  “It’s only not a comfort to you because of your Vulcan.”

Jim denied it sadly.  “He’s not my Vulcan.”

Just as he had earlier, Sam proposed a course of action.  “So make him yours.”

It would never be that easy and Jim knew it.  His lips turned down, his brows came together, and his heart and head battled in frustration.  “I—We can’t, Sam,” he managed to say.  He futilely gestured to the tent in which Sybok had retreated.  “I’d never have an heir with him!  Because you left I have to marry for a political reason.  I can’t—we can’t—”

Sam had envied his brother’s freedom in the past, but he never wanted his decision to hurt Jim.  “But you love him.”  He had to make Jim understand that such a thing shouldn’t be thrown away carelessly. 

Jim shook his head.  “Don’t, Sam, just—”

He leaned into Jim, hissing at him.  “Don’t bullshit me, baby brother,” he demanded, sounding like the prince he could have been.  “I can see that you love that Vulcan!  Don’t you dare try to deny that.”

Jim surrendered, knowing he couldn’t deny it.  He didn’t want to deny it.  Yet, his position as the crown prince required him to deny his feelings for Sybok no matter how much he did not want to do it.  “It’s a no-win scenario, Sam.” 

“Then think like I do,” Sam said, reassuringly.  “Don’t believe in the no-win scenario.” 

Jim shook his head, unable to find a solution.  He knew he was clever, but this he could not figure out how he could possibly do what he wanted in his heart while duty and royalty denied him that.  “How would you solve this one, then?”

Sam answered without hesitation.  “Name my child your heir.”

“What?”

“Name my child your heir, Jim.”

Jim’s mind reeled at the suggestion.  He didn’t dare hope that such a thing would be permitted.  Did a law even exist for a situation like this?  He had no idea.  If it didn’t and he were free to name Sam’s child his heir to the throne—Jim looked at the tent, towards Sybok.  He could have him.  Jim could ask Sybok to marry him, bond with him, either or both.  But if such a law did exist forbidding such a thing, then he could never be with Sybok.  His thoughts must have been plain in his face judging by his older brother’s next words.  “There’s no law, no edict, nothing that could prevent you from doing that.”

Jim could barely breathe.  He caught sight of Aurelan returning to them.  “What would your wife say?”

Aurelan embraced Sam from behind, perching her chin on her husband’s shoulder. “I’d say that it would be a fair sacrifice for giving your brother to me.”  Sam turned his head to look at his wife, smiling.  They both readjusted enough so that they could kiss sweetly. 

Then, Sam turned to his brother.  “It would be the least I could do for you after leaving everything on you like I have.  I’ve made you give up your dreams and plans to explore the universe, and forced you to rule in my place.  I don’t want to see you unhappy, and I know you probably have been.  I refuse to live in such bliss while you’re so miserable and without any joy in your life.  If that means that I have to give up a piece of my own happiness to ensure some of yours, then I would not consider it a high price to pay.” 

Sam’s words overwhelmed Jim.  He didn’t even know what to say.  Even if he did know the words, he could not speak past the emotion lodged in his throat that choked his voice.  He was glad that he didn’t have to speak yet.  His brother had not finished.  “You can marry the one you love and Aurelan and I will give you an heir.”  He smiled at Jim, satisfied with his solution to his brother’s no-win scenario.  “I may have abdicated, but I’m still royal blood.” 

Jim knew that it would not be terribly difficult to convince the king and queen of the logic of this idea.  With Sam’s abdication, the pressure to continue to Kirk line of succession rested solely on Jim.  In a way, there was no better spouse than a Vulcan female.  Vulcan lifespans typically were longer than Human, so the line would continue longer with Vulcan genetics of longevity mixed in.  But with Jim wanting to marry a Vulcan male, there was no question that the Kirk line would end with him, especially considering how Vulcan bonds worked – they required faithfulness to one’s mate.  He would not be able to sire a child with any other.  The line would die.  But both Jim and Sam knew that the monarchy would rather bend strict policy regarding heirs in order to continue their bloodline rather than allow it to end – even if that heir were to be produced by an abdicated prince and his gypsy wife.  Sam changed the conditions of succession in order to develop a satisfactory solution to Jim’s no-win scenario. 

Jim tried to hold in his emotion, but he knew he failed when his brother’s face blurred through the tears he couldn’t hide.  “Thank you, Sam.”  He had meant to thank Aurelan as well, but his voice failed the moment he said his brother’s name.  He reached out to her instead, taking her hand and pressing it between his to silently thank her as he could not say anything else. 

“You are welcome, baby brother,” Sam said.  Jim looked off towards the tent again.  Sam chuckled.  “Go and be with your Vulcan, now.”  His brother looked at him, his grateful and happy smile lighting up his face, and then sprang to his feet and headed to the tent. 

Jim felt the eyes of the camp following him as he approached the tent to which Aurelan had led Sybok, but he didn’t care.  With his brother’s offer, Jim could be open and honest about the time he’d spent with the Vulcan, about his unexpectedly strong feelings for him.  Jim did not have to wish he could be with Sybok.  Without the burden of needing to produce an heir, the biggest and most difficult obstacle to overcome fell.  Jim took a deep breath and parted the flap of the tent and entered it, escaping the public view and going into a place where only he and Sybok existed. 

“Your Highness,” Spock mumbled from where he’d reclined on his side after Aurelan had left him alone.  “Are we to leave already?”

Jim crouched down at his side and gently pressed him back down as Sybok began to sit up.  “You don’t have to get up, yet.”  Now that he’d come to Sybok, he had no idea how to broach the subject he very much wanted to discuss.  “Are you comfortable?”

Spock thought it a strange question.  His eyebrows came together in his confusion.  “I have not been more so,” he answered.  He had been surprised that a nomadic dwelling like this could provide such a comfortable place to sleep.  The day had tired him, and he had only meant to lie down briefly to recover the energy for their return.  It was far past the time that he should have been home, but he could not rush their return without revealing the circumstances of his station.  He looked at the prince, whose eyes shined in kindness and his smile encouraging, and Spock wanted to confess to him his identity, his status, and his real name.  The words were so close to being said, but the fear of what could come after such a confession made the words stick in his throat.  The law dictated that Spock would be imprisoned or put to death for lying to royalty.  Spock was terrified to risk it, terrified to lose his family – Christopher, Natasha, and Pavel – and to lose Hikaru.  He would have to never see the prince again after tonight, though it would prove to be much more difficult since the prince now knew where he lived.  Spock would have to hide, would have to flee, and would have to lie to him even more.  He could never tell him the truth. 

Jim watched as Sybok’s emotions danced in his expression.  When he had entered the tent, Sybok had been sleeping and struggling to wake up, but his eyes were warm and unguarded.  Now, that vulnerability had disappeared behind a portcullis of fear and had been locked away in a fortress of tension.  “What’s wrong?”

Spock shook his head, looking around the tent for his – for the Viscount’s – overcoat that he had removed to lie down.  “We should begin back,” he evaded the prince’s question.  He shifted to dislodge the prince’s hand from his upper arm and sat up, the covers of the moveable bed sliding away from his upper body.

Something was wrong, and Sybok didn’t want to tell him.  Jim watched as the Vulcan looked everywhere but at him.  What had he done?  Then, Jim realized.  Vulcans had superior hearing to Humans.  Had he heard the entire discussion between him and Sam?  Then, Jim shook his head in denial.  Sybok had been sleeping.  He couldn’t possibly had heard it.  If that wasn’t it, then what was it?  Jim knew he didn’t have the time to wait until Sybok calmed down, he couldn’t put this off any longer.  He needed to tell him here, now, in this tent what he wanted.  Until that moment Jim had thought that Sybok felt similarly to him, but watching the skittish Vulcan before him, Jim’s surety began to fade.  But he knew one thing for certain.  He could not let Sybok run from him now.  “Did I offend you or frighten you just now when I came in here?” 

Spock froze.  He did not want to lie more than he must to the prince.  “You have done neither, Your Highness.”

He still didn’t look at him.  Why?  “Then why won’t you look at me?”

Spock sighed.  He knew that if he looked at the prince, he would not be able to ignore his own feelings for this Human.  He should not look at him.  It would be better to convince him to leave – to return home.  “We should begin back,” he repeated.  Back to reality, to leave this fantasy world where he could possibly deserve a prince’s affection and back to where they could never be together.  Why had he gone with him today?  He wanted to.  Spock began to regret the impulsive decision to leave, to put his family at risk from the Viscount’s anger and suspicion.  Spock, a servant, and James, a prince, would never be permitted to be together.  In a way, he envied Aurelan for the freedom of having that choice, and for finding someone that loved her not for her birth status – or rather in spite of it.  If only he could have such fortune.  “We should leave.”  He drew away the bedding from the rest of his body and intended to dress again for the departure. 

Jim didn’t understand.  “No, not yet,” he argued.  Sybok grabbed his coat and had slid one arm through the sleeve.  Jim let himself fall forward from his crouch and to his knees so that he could grab Sybok’s upper arms, effectively halting his progress in dressing.  “We’re not going until I talk to you.”

Spock did not wish to talk any more.  He needed to go home.  “We have nothing to discuss.”

The refusal stung, but Jim would not – could not – let him run away this time.  He released one of Sybok’s arms and cupped his jaw, and then forced the Vulcan to raise his head.  It had been the first time he had forced Sybok to do anything.  “Look at me.  Tell me what I’ve done to make you so distant and angry with me.” 

Spock swallowed nervously.  The prince’s hand on his face held him immobile, unable now to look away from him.  “You have done nothing.”

“Then, talk to me,” Jim asked.  “Because I don’t understand what happened to the Vulcan I took to the archives today, or to the Vulcan I kissed tonight.  Is that what it is?  Did I misread you this whole time? Because I—”

“No, you did not,” Spock spoke before he could stop himself.  He gasped in despair at his own reply. 

“Then, what is it?” Jim pressed, softening his touch.  “Please.” 

Spock did not wish to lie, but he could not tell him the whole truth.  Perhaps a part of it would do.  He met the prince’s distressed blue eyes, displeased at seeing their sadness and knowing he had been the cause of it.  “Your Highness,” he began.  “Surely you must have concluded long before this afternoon that we cannot possibly be together, despite what we may feel for one another.” 

Jim had expected a worse response.  He had anticipated a full rejection.  But this was something he could handle.  “Yes, we can.”

Spock shook his head.  “We cannot.  There are too many concerns, too many obstacles preventing such a union.”

For the first time in their discussion, Jim smiled.  He framed Sybok’s face in his hands and looked into his dark brown eyes trying to soothe the fear in them wordlessly.  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.  I plan to name Sam’s son my heir in the future.” 

Spock’s eyebrows rose high, and his lips parted in shock.  The prince had not understood what he had tried to say.  He did not intend to imply that an obstacle for their union would be the impossibility of offspring, yet the prince had clearly interpreted his words to refer to that subject. 

Jim’s smile grew as the surprise shown in Sybok’s face.  “So, there’s no reason that I couldn’t marry whoever I wanted to, whoever I feel for.  Do you understand?”

He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything except stare at the prince.  He understood what the prince implied to him, but he was completely helpless to discourage him, to deny him, to refuse him.  He should refuse.  But he could not speak.  He could not move.  He had never anticipated this.

Jim came closer to Sybok, sitting as close to him as he had by their fire.  “Since the day at the palace, when you ripped apart my father’s laws, and ran from me, all I wanted was to see you – to find you – again.”  He traced his thumb along Sybok’s cheekbone tenderly.  “And then you walked right out of the woods to me.”  Jim’s heart pounded, his throat dried in his nervousness, but he pushed it down.  He looked into Sybok’s eyes, seeing a reflection of his own nervousness, his own frightened uncertainty, and he turned the Vulcan’s silent, turbulent emotions into his own courage.  “I love you.  I barely know you, but I know I love you.” 

Spock began to panic.  “Your Highness—”

“I knew it since the day by the river,” Jim stated firmly.  He saw Sybok’s eyes fill with tears. He brushed them away as they spilled, never able to streak the Vulcan’s green-blushed cheeks.  “I wanted to court you over the last few days.  But I ran out of time to do that properly, so let me be very clear now.”  Jim came closer still, one of his hands sliding to bury in Sybok’s long hair.  “I want you at my side for the rest of my days.  I want you to be the last thing I see when I fall asleep.  I want you to be the one I wake up to.  I want you—” 

Spock did not hear the rest of the prince’s words as he sobbed in defeat.  “Your Highness.”

Jim pressed his forehead to Sybok’s as he corrected him, “No, not Highness, not here, not now.  Jim.” 

Spock barely found enough of his voice.  “Jim.”

Jim closed his eyes, basking in the sound of his name from Sybok’s lips.  Then, he heard Sybok whisper even quieter than the first time.  “Jim.”  He smiled and shifted enough to bring their lips close.  “I am yours.”  Those three words from Sybok were all he needed to hear.  Jim brought their lips together and held Sybok against his body, wanting to feel him, all of him. 

Spock’s hands were not idle.  They went to the prince’s jacket and struggled with the fastenings, his fingers clumsy in their eagerness.  Jim broke their kiss and pulled on the one sleeve of the jacket that Sybok wore, removing the coat and then tossing it aside before he reached for the Vulcan again to crash their lips together.  Spock finally opened the prince’s jacket and ran his hands down the shirt still preventing their skin from touching.  And he wanted to touch.  He pushed the open jacket off Jim’s shoulders, and the prince released him long enough to get his arms free of his sleeves, letting the jacket fall to the ground carelessly. 

Simultaneously, they raced to undo the laces and ties of their shirts.  Jim moved just barely quicker than Spock, pulling the shirt from where it had been tucked inside the Vulcan’s trousers and then insistently tugging the hem higher and higher up Sybok’s body.  Spock had no choice but to stop his undressing of the prince in order to accommodate his demand.  He allowed Jim to lift the shirt from his body, barely noticing the chill of the air as his upper body was revealed.  Jim stared at him for a moment, and then he feverishly tore his own shirt from his body.  Spock had no time to truly observe the prince’s physique.  The prince reached for him and pulled him forward.  Both of them gasped as their skin pressed against each other, and silenced each other a moment later by pressing their lips together.  Their hands explored their arms, their backs, their sides – always moving. 

Spock, with Jim pushing against his shoulders, was urged backwards until he felt the fabric of the bedding against his skin.  The prince followed his descent and draped himself atop of him, never separating from their kiss.  Spock reached up for him, running his fingers through Jim’s lighter hair, which coaxed a low moan from the prince.  Spock memorized the feel and sound.  The prince licked his way to Spock’s jaw, pressed a kiss there, and then went to his neck.  Jim raised himself up to plant his hands of Spock’s shoulders, pinning him to the bedding as he readjusted his body to paint kisses from Spock’s neck, to his collar bone, down the center of his chest, to his navel, and to the place where fabric prevented him from going any further.  Spock raised his head to look at Jim, who smiled at him seductively.  “Is this okay?”

Spock nodded. “Yes.”

Jim slowly released Sybok’s shoulders and brought his hands to the fastenings of the Vulcan’s trousers.  He looked back into his Vulcan’s eyes.  “We don’t have to do anything.  We could—”

Spock touched his index and middle fingers to the prince’s wrist.  “I want you to.”

Jim looked down at the Vulcan kiss Sybok pressed to his wrist.  He curled his own fingers around Sybok’s kiss and raised their hands to his lips, adding a Human kiss to the gesture.  “Are you sure?”

Spock thought for a moment on the significance of this moment and of his emotions.  He had only been touched in a sexual way by one other and it had left him feeling sickened and both emotionally and physically violated.  Everything he had experienced with the prince disproved that sexual touch and contact was unpleasant.  In fact, the sensations and the emotions had been remarkably the opposite.  Spock enjoyed, wanted, craved the prince’s touch.  If he only had this moment to learn what pleasure was, what it felt like to be loved by another romantically, then he wanted to know all of that experience so that he could remember it when such touches and emotions were no longer a part of his life.  Spock wanted this – all of it.  “Yes.”

Jim kissed Sybok’s fingers again.  Slowly, in a mixture of hesitancy and reverence, he brought his attention back to Sybok’s clothing, but keeping eye contact with him as he undid the fastenings.  “Lift up,” he instructed.  Sybok complied and raised his hips so that Jim could slowly peel the trousers from his body, grateful that Sybok had removed his boots before he’d slept earlier.  He calmly set the garment aside and then turned to look at his soon-to-be lover. 

Spock could not help but tremble under the prince’s studious gaze.  He was, after all, a half-breed, a disgrace, an abomination.  The Viscount had told him this for half of his life.  He did not understand why the prince wanted him.  Self-consciously, Spock moved to cover his genitals.  “I know I am…different than you anatomically, and that my appearance may alarm you.”

“No.”  Jim grabbed his wrists before they could conceal anything.  “You don’t alarm me, or shock me.” 

“I am not Human.”

Jim smiled and tried not to laugh.  “I know.  That doesn’t matter.”  He brought Sybok’s captured hands to the lacing of his own trousers, silently telling him what he wanted.  “I definitely still want you.”  He saw the uncertainty in Sybok’s eyes.  “Go on,” he urged him. 

Spock’s hands shook as he undid the prince’s closures.  When he had finished, he began to withdraw, but the prince took his wrists again and brought his fingers to hook on the hem of his clothing and begin to pull it down and past his hips.  Spock stared in nervousness and fascination as the prince’s body was fully revealed to him, the Human’s organ erect and leaking. 

“Have you ever done this?”

The question jarred Spock from his observation of the prince’s length.  He swallowed the lump in his throat.  “No,” he whispered, anxiously. 

Jim smiled at him.  He stood to casually remove his boots and free himself from the rest of his clothes with his back to Sybok.  When he faced him again, he did so slowly, showing the Vulcan his entire body.  “There’s nothing to be scared of.”  He lowered himself to his knees and ran his hands up Sybok’s legs, gauging the level of the Vulcan’s discomfort through his eyes.  He licked his lips and trailed kisses up Sybok’s leg, delighting in the soft sounds coming from his Vulcan.  Jim ran his first two fingers over Sybok’s hipbone, kissing him in the Vulcan way first, then following that gesture with a Human kiss.  Sybok shivered.

Spock let his head fall back against the pillow, staring up at the thick cloth of the tent above them, giving himself to the physical sensations he experienced.  He shivered when the prince kissed his hipbone, trembled as he rested his palm over his heart, and moaned when he felt the prince take him into his mouth.  He looked down at the prince then, finding Jim looking into his eyes as he licked and sucked on his flesh.  Without consciously doing it, Spock spread his legs to give the prince more comfort.  Jim hummed around him and Spock shook in pleasure.  He reached down for the prince, touching his fingers to those that lay over his heart.  Immediately, the Human laced their fingers together but did not let his palm leave Spock’s heart.  His right hand captured, Spock strained to run his fingers through the prince’s hair again.  He enjoyed the touch of it.  When he did, Jim groaned, sending an exquisite sensation through Spock. 

Jim pulled away from Sybok’s length slowly, torturously, and then surged forward calmly until his body covered his lover’s fully, comfortably cradled by Sybok’s open legs.  “If you want me to, I’ll stop.”

Spock did not want that.  “No,” he whispered, pulling the prince down to him to kiss him.  “Do not stop.”

Jim swallowed, reaching up and running the tips of his fingers along the green flush of Sybok’s cheek, smiling softly at him.  He brought his fingers to Sybok’s lips and silently asked him to take him in.  Spock understood what he wanted and allowed him entry, working to coat the prince’s fingers with his saliva.  “I’m sorry we don’t have anything else,” Jim said quietly.  “And I wish I could tell you that this won’t hurt, because it probably will.”  He saw Sybok’s uncertainty and tried to reassure him.  “At least at first.  Do you trust me?”  He pulled back his fingers so that Sybok could answer.

“Yes.”

Jim kissed Sybok as he shifted the Vulcan’s legs a little wider, soothed him with a comforting touch, and kept their lips joined.  He worked to prepare the Vulcan for him, stretching him, taking his time, waiting for Sybok to be ready to accept him.  Jim felt him trembling beneath him, heard him softly moaning into their kiss.  He needed to ask, to be absolutely sure.  “Are you ready, love?”  Sybok nodded, but Jim needed something more.  “I need you to say it.”

“Yes, Jim, please,” Spock said, barely able to hear his own voice. 

Jim brought one of Sybok’s legs around his waist, and the other he raised until it was hooked over his shoulder. He pressed kisses around Sybok’s knee, his calf, only pausing to lick his own palm and transfer it to his member. But he sought to distract Sybok with the attention to his leg. By the time he’d aligned their bodies and he knelt poised at Sybok’s entrance, the Vulcan’s shaking had subsided and he lay before him gasping breathlessly. He looked gorgeous. Jim let the leg slide from his shoulder and then draped it around his waist. Then, he began to push. Jim looked into Sybok’s eyes. “I love you,” he said, and then began to love him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have made up some laws about royal succession/accession...tried to do some research on such a situation, and couldn't really find any - but! Let's just say that in the Terran Royalty they would be more concerned about whether or not the bloodline ended than any other relevant factor - such as their abdicated prince being the only one of that line perpetuating that line. Keeping the line alive would seem more important, right? 
> 
>  
> 
> Either way, royal protocol aside, I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. ~ RK


	10. Consequences of Rebellion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is reading, enjoying, and reviewing this story. I hope you all continue to enjoy it. I am grateful for your patience, as always. ~ RK

They stayed in the camp far longer than Spock had wished, but at the same time he did not want to return home.  He didn’t want to go back to a world that he now knew to be wrong, flawed, and damaged.  He understood now what Pike and Natasha had tried to tell him only just yesterday when the Prince had arrived to spend the day with him.  He had not believed he deserved better.  The Viscount had always told him that he didn’t deserve more than what Marcus provided.  Spock had believed him.  Only now he wanted more.  For the first time in his life, Spock wanted more than what his life entailed. 

With a soft sigh, Spock gripped the front of the Prince’s jacket tighter and snuggled his cheek against his lover’s chest.  His lover.  Despite the Prince’s words in the tent that night, Spock knew that they could never be together.  He should have told him then.  He should have told him everything.  He would have been able to escape into the forest if the Prince had reacted badly, if he had decided his only choice was to carry out the law.  Spock stayed silent because of the unbelievable words the Prince said to him, the words of desire and love and the promises that came with them that Spock could not bear to have taken away.  He knew, truly knew, just how much the Prince wanted him and how much he wanted the Prince in return.  Then, the painful realization that nothing could ever come of their mutual desire tore away the bliss of Spock’s happiness.  Perhaps when he returned home, all of it could fade into a dream, one that he wouldn’t even remember eventually.  The Prince would forget about him, marry someone suitable like Janice, and Spock would stay where he’d always gone on unseen and unmissed by everyone. 

But what if the Prince did miss him?  The thought caused his chest to tighten.  He closed his eyes tightly and buried his face into the fabric over the Prince’s chest to hide his inevitable tears from him.  “Are you alright?  Do you need to rest?”

Spock shook his head against the Prince.  “I am fine,” he lied.  More lies.  Always he was telling lies to the man he now knew he loved.  He swallowed a despairing sob.

“Are you in pain, riding like this?” the Prince asked in concern.  He couldn’t see Sybok’s face, but he could feel the tension in his body against his own.  “I didn’t really think about if you’d be alright to ride,” he admitted.  “I just—”  He sighed in frustration at his own carelessness.  “I’m sorry.  But you’re almost home.  It’s not much longer.” 

Spock realized that the Prince referred to the soreness he felt from their lovemaking.  He was indeed sore in muscles that had never ached like they did then.  Truthfully, the ache in that area was insignificant compared to that in his heart.  “I am not in pain,” he tried to reassure the Prince.  He was not in physical pain.  Soreness did not equal pain.  “Do not be sorry, Your Highness,” he mumbled into the Prince’s clothing.  “I am not.”

Jim smiled to himself at Sybok’s tired words.  Keeping his grip on the reins with the hand that supported Sybok’s back, he ran his fingers through his new lover’s long hair.  The touch induced Sybok to tilt his head back, his half-opened eyes finding the Prince’s gaze tiredly.  “Then I won’t be sorry either.”  He brought their lips together, smiling into the kiss.  When they parted, he saw the exhaustion in those brown eyes.  Gently, Jim pressed Sybok’s head against his chest.  “Rest,” he whispered.  “I’ll wake you when we get close.”  

Sybok had been gorgeous in that tent with him, his restraint had crumbled under Jim’s touch, and he’d eagerly yet shyly welcomed Jim into his arms and his body.  Even before that moment, Jim knew he wanted Sybok at his side when his wedding was announced.  That certainty became absolute when he made love to Sybok that night.  He wished he could bring Sybok home, to the palace, never to part from him again.   He would have done so had Sybok not asked to go back to the manor.  Jim did not wish to refuse Sybok or to bring him to the palace with him when the Vulcan might not be ready. 

He would have to be ready very soon, though.  There would be no other choice in a matter of days. 

Jim looked up and saw that their party approached the edge of the Marcus property.  His chest tightened, and he turned his attention back to Sybok, pressing a kiss to the still disheveled hair.  “You’re almost home, love.” 

The words seemed to shock Sybok into full alertness.  “Wait, Your Highness, please, right here.”  The demand surprised Jim enough to halt their horse.  Surely Sybok must be too sore and too tired to walk that long path all the way to the house.  His confusion and unease at Sybok’s request must have been apparent in his face, as his lover quickly added, “I do not wish to wake anyone with our approach.” 

That made sense.  Jim had been seeing Sybok secretly behind the Viscount’s and Lady Janice’s backs these last few days.  Arriving just before dawn with Sybok on the same horse would certainly raise many questions, none of which he had any desire to answer.  What he and S’haile Sybok did and where they went was of no one else’s concern.  Everyone else did not matter.  Besides, as the Prince, he only had to answer to his royal parents.  He owed the Viscount and Lady Janice no explanation. 

Satisfied with that idea, Jim dismounted the horse and helped Sybok slowly slide from his side-saddle position and to the ground.  He’d thought side-saddle position would have been more comfortable for Sybok than straddling the horse, especially with the distance they had to travel and taking their recent activities into account.  “Thank you, Your Highness,” Sybok began. 

“Jim,” he corrected.  “After what we shared together, I think we’re past formalities, don’t you?”

Spock blushed and ducked his head.  The soreness had seemed to increase since dismounting the horse, further reminding him of what he’d done, what he’d allowed the Prince to do.  “Jim,” he whispered, head still lowered. 

He reached out and encouraged Sybok to look at him.  He grinned at him, basking in his happiness and delighted that Sybok retained his endearing shyness despite their intimacy.  “Don’t think I’ll forget you saved our lives.”

Spock shook his head, but did not break away from the Prince’s touch.  “It was Lady Gaila’s recognition of you that saved our lives, Jim.” 

Jim chuckled quietly.  “It was you.”  He stroked Sybok’s cheek with his fingertip, wishing his forwardness had not vanished in the company of their escort, courtesy of Lady Gaila.  If they were not with them, he would not hesitate to kiss Sybok.  Yet, with them present and still mounted, Jim hesitated. 

Spock thought the Prince would kiss him again, and tried to control his disappointment when the contact did not occur.  He lowered his eyes, nodded, and turned away from the Prince. 

Jim watched Sybok take one step away from him.  At the second step, he realized he didn’t want him to go yet.  By the time Sybok took his third step towards the house, Jim grabbed his upper arm to stop him.  In another moment, Jim brought Sybok into his embrace, pressed their bodies together, and kissed him deeply, their escort be damned.  Spock wound his arms around the Prince, just as reluctant to leave emotionally, but knowing that he must before the sun rose to mark his return home.  He began to pull away, but the Prince held him closer.  “Jim,” he gasped as their kiss paused.  Then, the Prince was kissing him again.  “I must go.” 

Jim looked at his lover, memorizing the way he looked bathed in the dawn’s light.  “The masque is tomorrow,” he said urgently.  “Tell me you’ll be there.” 

Spock knew he could never attend.  Nothing in existence would ever persuade the Viscount to permit him to go.  “I—”  What lie should he tell?  Spock saw the hope in the Prince’s eyes.  In that instant, Spock could not think of anymore lies.  “I—”

Jim took Sybok’s hands in his, weaving their fingers together, but keeping his thumbs actively sliding against the side of the Vulcan’s index fingers in a clumsy Vulcan kiss.  As Sybok’s eyes fluttered shut, Jim knew that even his poorly executed ozh’esta elicited a powerful reaction in Sybok.  “Come to the masque, love, and I’ll announce you as my consort.”  Sybok’s eyes opened wide and his lips parted in shock.  “Tell me you’ll be there.  Please,” he begged.  “I need you there.” 

He should have lied.  Anything would have sufficed.  Instead, he would have to make a promise he had no way of honoring, and by breaking his word, break both of their hearts.  He did not know how he spoke the words past the sadness closing his throat.  “I will be.” 

Jim smiled in relief before surging forward to kiss Sybok again.  “I need to see you today.  Can you get away?”

Spock doubted he could.  “I do not know.”

“Meet me by the river, the place where we shared your strawberries.” 

The Prince spoke as though he didn’t hear what Spock had said.  “I may not be able to go unnoticed.”

Jim looked at Sybok, briefly wondering why he should look so anxious.  He offered Sybok a soft smile, and then reached up to curl his finger around a long strand of the Vulcan’s dark hair.  He slid his finger down the length, mesmerized by the way the hair shined in the early light.  “I’ll wait the whole day for you,” he promised.  He met Sybok’s eyes.  “The whole day.” 

Spock sighed.  There was only one response to make.  “Then, I will make every effort before the day ends.” 

He walked away before he would no longer be able to leave. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” the shout welcomed him home.  “Do you know how frantic Her Majesty’s been the whole damn night?”

Jim laughed at McCoy’s irritated, though well-meaning, hysterics as he handed off the reigns of his horse to an attendant and headed into the palace.  McCoy, and his loud chastising, followed him closely.  By the time Jim had arrived at the gates to home, the sun had fully risen.  Apparently with it had risen McCoy’s frantic and caring panic.  But with his heightened elation from everything that had happened yesterday – even early this morning – Jim didn’t want to waste a second of his giddy energy on bantering with McCoy, even though he often enjoyed it. 

He had too much to do.  He had to get everything in motion here at the palace before he could make good on his parting words to Sybok.  Several arrangements needed to be made before he could go to the river and await his lover.  He had no doubt that this time McCoy would insist on staying at Jim’s side today, considering the last twenty-four hours.  However, he suspected that once he and Sybok became a little affectionate with each other, McCoy would keep a discreet and respectful distance from them. 

“Jim!” McCoy shouted, his voice thundering in the spacious, empty corridor.  “Who the hell are they?”  The Captain of the Guard gestured animatedly to the escort company that Lady Gaila had provided for him and Sybok.  McCoy’s alarm shone obviously in his eyes. 

Jim clapped McCoy fondly on the other man’s bicep.  “Oh, they’re my guests,” he answered casually.  “Give them provisions, lodgings, horses, or anything else they require.”  McCoy looked at him in open disapproval.  Jim noticed that the gypsies stared at McCoy distrustfully.  That would not do.  With a charming smile, Jim looked back to McCoy.  “Without these fine escorts, I don’t know if I would have even made it home so early, not to mention unharmed.”  He knew McCoy would hear the unspoken words in that sentence.  _Because of these people, you don’t have to scramble for reasons to explain my disappearance._   As soon as McCoy smiled tightly and then turned to face the burly and ragged group of gypsies, Jim knew he’d won the moment’s victory.  He smiled as he watched McCoy lead the odd group down the corridor, away from Jim and the residential areas of the palace. 

Satisfied that his traveling companions would be shown their deserved courtesies by McCoy, Jim turned and walked toward his first matter of business.  Without waiting for the watchful and dutiful guards to do so, Jim opened the doors to the King and Queen’s chambers and quietly slipped inside them.  He shut the doors again as soon as he’d entered the room, knowing the thickness of the doors would prevent eavesdropping from the guards.  At least if everyone used their normal tone of voices this would be true.  If the King began shouting at anyone, then everyone in the palace would know what their ruler had been ranting about before lunch that day.  But as he stepped away from that heavy door, he realized just how silent his parents’ chambers were at that moment.  Good.  His arrival would surprise them.  The likelihood of convincing them to agree to his proposal had doubled. 

He went to the large canopied bed, grabbed the thick material draped around the entire border of it, and threw them open, the morning’s sunlight pouring into the darkened bed where the King and Queen had, until that moment, been sleeping.  “My sword!” mumbled the King, groggily.  Jim doubted his father’s alertness to even hold the weapon in his state, never mind wield it effectively.  “We’re under attack!” he slurred as he struggled to sit up, clearly too tired yet to intimidate anyone. 

“Oh, really, George,” the Queen groaned from the other side of the very large bed.  “If an attacker had gotten this far, we’d already be slaughtered by now!”  Jim waited with a fond smile until his mother managed to focus her eyes on him.  She knew her baby boy’s silhouette instantly.  “James!” she cried, sitting up quickly, and far more alert and awake than her husband. 

The King still struggled to push himself upright.  He could not seem to wake up just yet.  It had been a long night listening to his wife’s frantic, worried ranting about the many possible horrible fates that had befallen their younger son when he didn’t return home. 

“Where have you been?” the Queen asked, her adrenaline from the previous evening sharpening her voice.  She ignored her husband’s grimace.

Jim answered quickly, his smile growing.  “With S’haile Sybok.”

“Did you just get home?” she asked, her eyes narrowed as she studied his clothing, checking to see if he had bathed or been injured.  He was filthy, dirt on his clothes, hair disheveled, and his stubble grown out a little more.  He looked terribly non-princely, but at least he was home.  It was his contented and blissful smile that convinced her that her son had not been harmed. 

“Yes,” he answered simply. 

By then, the King had managed to sit up and his eyes focused intently on his son.  “Your mother,” he explained, “was beside herself worrying about you.  She thought you’d gone and vanished like your impulsive brother did after falling in love with a peasant girl.”  He smiled conspiratorially at his son.  “I told her you would never do something so foolish as that, and you’d come home when you wanted.  It seems I was right.”

Jim wanted to tell them about meeting with Sam, to defend the lovely gypsy girl he’d married, and that he’d fallen in love with a Vulcan lord and planned to wed him, but he held his tongue.  He had something more important to discuss with his parents while they continued trying to wake up.  It could not wait.  “Mother, Father, I want to start work on building an organization where people from all stations and backgrounds would have the opportunity to better themselves, to change their circumstances, and be able to become something more than the life into which they were born.”  His mother looked scandalized.  His father looked incredulous. 

Jim thought of Sybok and what they had discussed so passionately before he’d kissed the Vulcan by that fire in the woods.  When Jim spoke again, he tried a new approach, a more logical approach.  “I think it’s important to start cultivating better relations with other planets, other kinds of people.  We already control the spaceports on this planet.  But what good are just transport and import-export ships?  We need science and diplomatic, even exploratory, vessels to seek out new life and civilizations.”  His mother’s shock had melted away, leaving behind attentive curiosity.  The King, meanwhile, still stared at Jim skeptically and disbelievingly.  “That’s where the university—”  No, that word didn’t fit.  Jim had a better idea and amended his thought.  “—where the academy comes in.”  He allowed himself a moment to smile before he resumed his proposal.  “While there, those people who are smart, who are brave enough, and who are able to work hard for it will be trained in science or diplomacy or technology or engineering.  Then they’ll be assigned to a vessel when they’re ready to go boldly out there into the unknown where no one’s gone before.”  He reigned in his own excitement so that he could calmly finish what he wanted to say.  “I’m their prince, and their future king.  It’s in my power to give them that hope for something better.  I want to give them that future.”

Winona couldn’t fight her smile anymore.  It seemed like ever since her husband and son had made their agreement about Jim’s marriage contract, her younger boy had grown into his future almost overnight.  Last week her son had run away from his obligations due to Sam’s abdication.  The man who stood before her had embraced those same obligations and had begun to think and act with the nobility and the grace of a proper prince.  “And do you have a name for this academy of yours?” she asked, indulgently. 

Jim smiled gratefully at his mother.  He knew at the moment that he’d won her to his cause.  “I was thinking of calling it Starfleet Academy.”

“Have you completely taken leave of your senses, boy?”

Obviously, the King still needed some convincing.  One look to his mother and Jim knew that she would manage to persuade his father to his purpose.  She confirmed his thought with a slight nod.  Good, Jim could let his mother handle the King.

Jim already began to think about his preparations to meet Sybok, how he would tell him about how his lover’s impassioned words had inspired Jim’s idea for Starfleet.  He smiled to himself as he imagined the expression on Sybok’s face at that moment.  He turned to leave his parents’ chambers.  His focus lingered so much on Sybok that he didn’t even hear his mother telling him that she’d arranged a luncheon with Lady Janice and her father, the Viscount Marcus, for that afternoon.  Jim had to prepare everything for the time that he would see his lover again. 

The King and Queen watched as their son left their chambers, both recognizing that something had changed with James.  They had not seen him walk that relaxed nor that happily in a long time.  “Something’s changed in that boy,” George mused aloud.  Winona thought it encouraging that his voice did not contain disapproval. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Spock set the serving tray to the Viscount’s right.  As always, it contained the sugar cubes and the milk for his coffee, despite the fact that the milk was never used by the man.  “Do you require anything additional at the moment, Viscount?” he asked, wishing nothing more than to be dismissed so that he could rest.  He regretted the hour at which he had arrived back at the manor because it had guaranteed his level of exhaustion, but he could not bring himself to regret anything that had occurred between himself and the Prince. 

“Yes,” Viscount Marcus drawled as he casually plunked the sugar cube into his coffee.  “An explanation.”

Spock went rigid at the Viscount’s side, frozen with the fear that he had somehow seen him return at dawn, or even worse, that he had seen the Prince bringing him home.  He flicked his gaze quickly to Carol and Lady Janice, seeing open confusion in the former and disapproval in the latter.  At the very least, Carol did not know anything about what her father meant.  It was a small comfort.  “I do not know the question, Viscount.”

“I think you do, Spock,” Marcus said as he stirred the coffee.  He tapped the spoon on the rim of the cup, deliberately set it on the serving tray, and then turned his hardened gaze on the Vulcan.  “You returned to my house just as the sun came up.  What could you possibly have been doing until dawn?”

Spock swallowed.  “I—” he could not think of anything.  “I was—”

“Don’t even think of trying to tell me you were in the orchards.  I know about how Pike’s little whelp tried to cover for your absence.”  Spock did not know this, and that fact that Pavel had tried to mask his absence overwhelmed him with guilt.  He had jeopardized his family on a selfish whim to spend time with a man that he could never hope would want him once he knew that Spock was only a servant.  His family was not worth that.  His family was not worth such selfish and dangerously futile desires.  “Tell me where you were, Spock,” the Viscount commanded.

Spock did not wish to lie, nor did he wish to tell him the truth.  “I cannot.”

Viscount Marcus’s lips thinned in anger.  “Lying, Spock?  You know I won’t tolerate that from someone like you.”

As it had since his childhood, the Viscount’s insinuation that Spock was less than Marcus stung.  “I am not lying to you, Viscount,” Spock replied much more calmly than he felt.  “I am choosing not to tell you.”

Viscount Marcus slammed his fork down and stood from his chair.  Spock could not help but step back in alarm.  “You listen, you worthless half-breed,” he roared, coming closer until Spock’s back was against the wall, leaving him nowhere else to retreat.  “You explain to me why you came back here at dawn!  After everything I’ve done for you all these years since your mother died, you owe me an explanation!  Now, say it!”

Spock grasped onto the Viscount’s claim of doing something for him since his mother’s death.  What had the Viscount done for him?  The man had made him a servant in his own home.  He ordered him to perform menial, oftentimes degrading tasks.  He gave everything Spock had ever owned to Janice, and gave him scraps of food and rags to wear.  He spoke to him as though he were a peasant, not his stepson.  In the last few days, Spock knew that this was all wrong, that he had done nothing to deserve this treatment.  Ever since Prince James had entered his life, Spock understood what he should have become, what he would have become had his mother’s shuttle never crashed.  The Viscount had done nothing for him.  The Prince had opened his eyes.  Spock refused to shut them again. 

“I will not explain.  You do not deserve that knowledge.” 

He knew the Viscount would be incensed, and Spock was not surprised when his cheek exploded in pain.  He crumbled to the floor from the blow and looked up at the man who was only his stepfather by name.  “Get out of my sight!” the Viscount hissed.  “This is not the end of our discussion, half-breed.  I will find out where you were, and when I do, nothing will keep you from punishment for it.” 

Spock rose to his feet slowly, keeping eye contact with Viscount Marcus the entire time.  He looked into the man’s eyes for a long moment before he turned and left the dining room, not even bothering to take the coffee serving tray away. 

He took out his tension by hand-washing some of the laundry.  They had machines with which to do this, but at that moment, Spock wanted to do something that required energy.  He saw Natasha from the corner of his eye watching him worriedly, but he said nothing.  Pavel had even come and worked near him, cleaning the fruits and vegetables he’d gathered to conceal Spock’s absence.  Seeing the boy’s impressive harvest only increased his guilt and made him work harder, scrubbing the clothing even more vigorously.  The house stifled him within moments, and Spock sought the open air desperately.  He sat on the bench that, many years ago, Christopher had helped him to vomit up the chicken he’d eaten in a vain effort to win the Viscount’s affection. 

Everything had been for nothing.   His stepfamily would never consider him part of their family, and the Prince would never elevate him in status once he found out who and what he was – nothing.  Unbidden and uncontrollably, tears fell from Spock’s eyes.  He did not know how long he cried.  It did not matter. 

“Spock!” He did not hear Pike at first.  “Spock!”  He heard him the second time.  Hastily wiping his eyes, Spock turned and looked up at the second floor’s window where Pike had leaned forward to call him.  “You better get in here!  Better hurry!”  A second later, he disappeared and shut the window. 

Dread settled heavily in Spock’s stomach as he ran up to Janice’s room where Christopher had called him.  The older man’s expression was stone and he said nothing when Spock arrived.  He only pointed across the hall to Spock’s old chambers.  Spock knew immediately what he would find, even before he heard Janice’s shrill and satisfied giggling.  He ran across the hall and when he entered the room, he could barely breathe.  Janice, smiling gleefully, held Spock’s mother’s bonding dress to herself in front of the full-length mirror.  The Viscount stood next to her, admiring his daughter.  Only Carol saw him enter the room, and her eyes shone with sadness.  Spock stood there, rooted in place, unable to form words. 

“Oh, look who’s arrived,” the Viscount announced in a tone that made it clear he disapproved.  He’d seen Spock in the mirror and smiled disingenuously at the Vulcan.

At the sound of the Viscount’s voice, Spock’s paralyzing shock faded.  “What do you think you are doing?”

Janice smoothed the fabric of the dress against her stomach.  “I’m trying on my dress for the masque.”  Spock felt a cold chill pass through him.

The Viscount finally turned to Spock.  “I told you to keep your manners in check, and then look at what happened this morning.  Apparently, you can’t even control yourself for less than a week.  That only proves that Vulcans are uncivilized savages.  And to think Prince James means to wed a Vulcan,” he snorted.  Spock shook with building rage.  The sight of it made Marcus smile.  “You’re not going anywhere, Spock, and especially not with us to the masque.”

Spock did not know from where his anger sprang, only that he could not contain it.  He had done everything the Viscount had demanded of him and it had brought him nothing of benefit.  Seeing Janice standing there intending to wear his mother’s dress, the dress in which his mother had bonded with his father, to a masque for the sole purpose of seducing the Prince was the final insult.  “Do you truly believe that these machinations will ever induce the Prince to choose Janice over any other?” he seethed.  It no longer mattered to Spock that the Prince’s affections belonged to him in that moment.  The Prince would no longer care for him when he knew the truth.  All Spock cared about was making sure that Janice and the Viscount never so much as touched anything that had belonged to his parents ever again.  “Pursuing a royal match as you are will bring you nothing but disappointment!” he said through his clenched jaw as he stalked closer to them. 

Janice simply laughed at him and carried his mother’s dress across the room, clearly intent on taking it into her own.  “You’re actually jealous of us,” she dismissed him. 

Spock lunged forward and snatched the metal pendant that had belonged to his father, holding it up like a claim to his property.  “These are not yours!  It belonged to my parents!” 

Janice spun at the entrance to his old chambers, eyeing him coldly and smiling cruelly.  “Yes, but they don’t need them anymore,” she purred, a smile stretching her lips thin, her eyes shining with disdain.  “Because they’re dead.” 

All of his anger disappeared in that moment, and a strange sense of lethal calm overcame Spock.  Nothing existed in that instant except Janice’s cruelty and her horrible smile.  He dropped his hands, the pendant hanging limply from one of them, as he purposefully strode towards Janice.  By her continued expression of superiority and victory, she clearly expected him to walk past her.  He did no such thing.  Spock’s closed fist came up so fast it was nearly impossible to see until Janice had fallen to the floor, her mouth open in shock, her eyes flashing in terror, and her legs scrambling to flee in desperation.  “Father!” she screamed as she somehow regained her feet and ran from Spock’s menacing figure.

Gently, Spock scooped up his mother’s dress and held it over one arm carefully.  Knowing it would not be stepped on, and content that it was in his possession again, Spock decided to follow Janice.  He said nothing as he pursued her quickly.  Punching Janice’s eye had not been as satisfying as he’d expected.  He wished to strike her again so that he could relish in that sense of justice, of vengeance for the insult to his mother’s memory.  He heard nothing but Janice’s panicked screaming.  He saw nothing except Janice’s frantic flight from him as he followed her throughout the house.  He lost sense of time in this pursuit—

—until he saw Janice breathlessly holding over the fire the last gift he had ever received from his mother.  “Get away from me!” she cried. 

For the second time, Spock stood rooted in place, though this time with sickened terror.  “Put it down,” he whispered, unable to speak any louder. 

He realized his mistake the moment that Janice’s lips curled into a victorious grin.  “Give me the dress, half-breed.”

Spock’s gaze was riveted to the book of Vulcan poetry.  “Janice, Don’t.”

“I won’t if you give me the dress!”  She taunted him and held the book closer to the fire. 

Spock could not possibly make this choice.  His nausea rose, choking him and robbing him of his voice.  “Consider this carefully, Spock!” the Viscount shouted as he arrived in the sitting room to see this confrontation.  He went to stand to the sides of Janice and Spock, yet between them to prevent Spock from further attacking Janice.  “The book or the wedding clothes.  You lose one no matter your choice, but whichever you decide will not save you from the punishment you deserve for what you’ve done to my daughter!” 

Carol stood near the doorway, shocked and horrified by her family.  Forcing Spock to choose which priceless possession to destroy was unspeakably cruel of them.  He had almost nothing of his parents, and before this confrontation ended he would have even less.  She looked at the cruelty in her sister’s eyes, and the tyranny of her father’s face, and realized how much she despised her own family.  She was ashamed of them, and sickened by their behavior towards Spock, her stepbrother.  Families were not supposed to treat each other like this.  She felt tears well in her eyes as Spock visibly wrestled with the choice before him. 

Christopher, Natasha, and Pavel had heard Janice’s screaming and had abandoned their duties to see what had happened.  When they arrived in the sitting room and took in the situation, they stood frozen in the doorway in horror, unable to do anything.

Spock looked at the fire, then to the book.  He felt the fabric of his mother’s bonding dress against his skin.  He had never known his mother when she had worn this dress, had never seen her in it.  He had no connection to it other than knowing it had belonged to his mother when she had been happy.  But the book of poetry had been her last gift to him before she had died.  They’d read some of them together before she’d left for that doomed shuttle.  When he read some of the passages to himself, he could imagine her voice, could almost hear her.  It connected him with his mother.  Reluctantly, Spock held out the bonding dress to Janice, feeling the pendant’s chain slip from his grasp as she took it from him.  He kept his hand extended, waiting for the exchange. 

It never came. 

Janice flung the book hard into the flames.  “No!” Spock cried, throwing himself towards the fire, reaching into the flames for the book before the heat set it ablaze.  He could not grab it in time, though.  The Viscount grabbed his shoulder and viciously flung him backwards just as Spock’s hands began to sting with pain from the fire.  Spock hit a table corner, but he barely felt the impact as he scrambled back to the fire, desperate to rescue his mother’s gift.  But the Viscount caught him first.  He held his upper arm tightly, and then tangled his hand in Spock’s hair, keeping him immobile and facing the fire. 

“Watch it burn, Spock,” he snarled, tugging on his hair.  “Don’t you dare look away.”

Spock saw the pages begin to curl and blacken as the fire consumed the book.  Soon enough, however, he saw nothing as his tears blurred everything. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

It had been two hours since her father had bodily hauled Spock from the sitting room, down the stairs and outside.  Two hours since Carol had gone into Janice’s chambers to help her sister dress for her luncheon with Her Majesty and the Prince.  Janice had gleefully opened the window that faced the back of the manor.  “Oh, look!” she squealed in delight.  Carol felt a weight in her stomach.  Whenever her sister looked that happy, it seldom meant something good for anyone else in the house.  She flinched when she heard the first lash hit flesh, but Janice giggled.  “Vulcan beast,” she crowed from the window, using the name of Spock’s species like an insult.  When Janice faced her, Carol smiled and pretended to enjoy their stepbrother’s pain as much as her sister did.  That she smiled because of her sister’s blackening eye would be her private secret.

After she’d helped Janice dress, cover up her swelling and discolored eye, and said farewell to her sister and father as they went to the palace to meet the Queen and Prince James, Carol went down into the kitchen for something very specific.  When she’d been a little girl, she remembered Janice racing her to the front door when a noble visitor had called upon the family in the house.  Janice had pushed her to the side in the entranceway to present herself first.  Carol had smashed into a display cabinet in the foyer and had scraped her leg when she’d landed on the hard stone floor.  She managed to stumble through the doorway to greet their guest, though her leg had pained her.  After she’d returned inside the house, Natasha had taken her aside and brought her into the kitchens, where she immediately mixed together a bowl of aloe juice, water, and rose petals, dipped a rag into it, then cleaned her sluggishly bleeding leg.  It had stung, but it had also ended up feeling less painful in the end.  Carol now tried to repeat Natasha’s concoction.  Someone else needed its benefits then. 

When the consistency and scent satisfied her enough, Carol found a clean rag and carried the bowl upstairs to the top floor of the house.  She heard voices as she went up the steps between the second and third floors. 

“He just left him there, Chris!  Outside bleeding like this.”

Carol bit her lip and stopped walking for a moment, listening. 

“I know, Tasha,” Pike hissed quietly.  “But after what happened today does it really surprise you?”

Natasha sniffled.  “No.  Marcus hated Spock since he first saw him.” 

“Help me with his shirt.”  Carol was grateful that Pike had changed the topic.  Even though she grew more and more disgusted by her sister and her father, she knew that they were still her family.  She didn’t want to hear others speak poorly of them.  Somehow it made her feelings more real that way. 

A soft moan caught her attention and left a heavy weight in her stomach.  She’d never heard that sound, that helpless and weak sound, come from her stepbrother before.  “It’s okay, Spock,” Natasha said quietly.  “You’ll be okay soon.”

“We have to clean these,” Pike advised.  “Or we’ll never get him up and about quick enough.”  Carol heard Spock cut his own gasp short with a pained hiss.  “I know it hurts, son,” Pike said softly to Spock.  “We’ll get you cleaned up and on your feet soon.”

Natasha’s voice hardened.  “No, Chris.  He can’t today.”

Pike matched her tone.  “He’ll be expected, Tasha.  He can’t stay here like this.  We both know it.”  Natasha sighed heavily.  Carol heard her footsteps cross the floor.  “Where are you going?” her husband asked. 

“To get something to clean his back!”

Carol didn’t know what to do.  She suspected that she wasn’t meant to hear their heated words, and had no intention of being confronted by Natasha about it.  She hurried down the steps she’d already climbed and quickly fled into Janice’s chambers, hoping Natasha would not have any reason to enter that room.  Seconds after she’d concealed herself, she heard Natasha’s angry footsteps continue on down the lower flight of stairs that led toward the kitchens.  As quickly as she could, Carol went back up the steps to where Pike and Spock were waiting. 

Her approach must have been heard by someone.  While she was still several steps away from the closed door, she heard Pike speaking from behind it.  “There’s no need to remind me you can run and I can’t, Tash,” he said teasingly and apologetically.  It was a tone of voice Carol had never before heard from Christopher Pike.  She wondered what else she didn’t know about the small staff that had been around her since she was young.  They all probably knew far more about her than she did about them, she realized regretfully.  The door opened a moment later, and Pike’s expression changed from one of fondness and love to one she had always seen on him.  An expression of reservation and caution. In that moment, she realized that he'd mistaken her approach for that of his wife.  “Lady Carol,” he acknowledged her.  “What are you doing here?”

This formality from him made her choke on her own voice when she tried to answer.  Her reason for coming to this room had nothing to do with formalities and adherence to society norms and station.  She only wanted to do something to help her stepbrother.  “I brought this for Spock,” she said simply. 

Pike didn’t move aside.  He stood blocking her way into the room like a sentinel.  He looked at the bowl and rag in her hands.  When he recognized what the mixture in the bowl was, he looked at her questioningly, though unwilling to ask her outright.  Carol understood, however, and chose to reply to his unvoiced question.  “I am not my sister or my father,” she stated.  “I couldn’t hurt him.”  Pike sighed to himself and then retreated into the room, allowing her to follow him inside. 

She swallowed her guilt and walked into the sparsely furnished room that had been across from her chambers for so many years but which Carol had never before entered.  On the bed, face-down and shirtless, lay her stepbrother. 

Spock had heard their conversation and Carol’s presence had increased his exhausted tension.  When Natasha and Christopher had helped him inside, he’d tried to contain his pain and keep silent.  His shirt had been removed forcibly by the Viscount before the man had struck him down to the ground with a vicious blow to his gut.  Seconds later Spock’s back seared in pain from the start of his lashing.  He felt his skin break, felt the sting of the air in those wounds, felt his blood seep from his torn flesh with each punishing kiss of the Viscount’s whip.  Spock had tried not to move, to flee, from the Viscount, but it did nothing to ease the pain in his heart and his body.  When the Viscount had determined Spock had earned enough punishment, the man had kicked the Vulcan hard in his side with his boot and sent Spock crumbling to the ground, bleeding and softly moaning in pain.  Then, he’d left him there alone until Natasha and Pike had found him and brought him inside. 

A bowl was set down on the side-table near the head of the bed.  He opened his eyes and saw Carol lower herself into the chair beside the bed.  “Please go,” he whispered, unable to speak louder. 

Carol bit her lip and simply dipped the rag she’d brought with her into the bowl.  She said nothing to him, but he could see the tears in her eyes.  Spock didn’t know what to think of that.  While she continued to worry her lip to silence herself, Carol rung out the water over Spock’s back.  As soon as it contacted his injuries, Spock hissed and turned his face into the pillow to stifle his pain.  He heard Carol gasp at the sound he made.  Nothing happened for a long while until Spock felt the rag slowly, gently, carefully run along his back and trace the welts and cuts made by the Viscount’s whip.  “You know you brought this upon yourself, Spock,” she said, quietly.

Spock turned to her in disbelief.  Did she think he deserved this from her father?  He’d always known Carol to be the most compassionate of the Marcus family.  Had he been misled this entire time for so many years?  Carol’s attention was solely on her self-appointed task of washing Spock’s back, and so she did not notice his incredulous expression.  “First you disappeared,” she continued in a soft voice.  “And when you returned, it was just after sunrise.  Did you expect him to ignore that?  You’ve never done something like that before.” 

Spock began to understand her perspective of the situation.  He had never disobeyed the Viscount before, nor had he ever done anything for himself simply because he wished to do it.  Everything had changed the moment the Viscount had sold Christopher and Spock had gone to bring him home.  Ever since Prince James had tossed a pouch of credits at him for a promise to remain silent.  From that moment, Spock’s entire life had changed, and he began to disobey the Viscount.  Then, ultimately, he had fallen in love and lost all sense of caution and sensible judgment.   

“Second with refusing to answer him at breakfast,” Carol continued.  “You’ve never concealed anything from him.”  She soaked the rag in the bowl and rung out the green blood before turning back towards Spock to continue cleaning his wounds.  “And then everything that happened downstairs,” she choked on her words, unable to finish. 

Spock closed his eyes in remorse for all of the grief he’d brought upon his family and the punishment he’d received for his disobedience and rebellion.  Carol was correct.  Spock had brought all of this upon himself.  “I do not know what has caused me to act so atypically,” he said, though he knew precisely the reason.  He simply could never tell Carol. 

Carol thought of the moment when Spock had punched Janice.  That moment made her smile.  “Though I will never forget the way Janice looked when you punched that grin off her face,” she confessed, the lack of anger clear in her voice. 

Spock wanted to laugh but he could only sob.  That moment had caused him to lose forever his most prized possession from his mother.  He could never find joy in something so terrible, not even Janice’s pain.  That momentary satisfaction could never compare to the loss of his mother’s book. 

Carol’s laughter died as she watched Spock’s reaction.  She’d hoped that mentioning her own satisfaction in someone finally pointing out to Janice that her behavior was offensive and distasteful would in some way unburden Spock of his grief.  But when she saw his loss and his sadness in his expression and in the shaking of his body, she knew that nothing about what had happened that day could be considered amusing.    Carol sighed to herself.  She focused on washing away her stepbrother’s blood, wishing she could as easily wash away his tears.

Pike had watched the entire discussion near the doorway.  Natasha had arrived just as Carol laughed.  Natasha stood at Christopher’s side, holding a bowl containing the same mixture that Carol had brought to Spock.  Husband and wife stared at Carol and Spock and both of them were prepared to force the girl from the room if she dared to hurt Spock.  Then, Carol had surprised them all.  “Janice should never have said that about your parents.  No one should ever say something like that.” 

Spock struggled to find his voice.  He understood the words that Carol had left unspoken.  She didn’t blame him for what had happened from the moment Janice had said those cruel words.  She didn’t think he deserved what had happened afterwards at the hands of her sister and father.  He wanted to say more to her, but he could not speak further than a simple phrase.  One he had not said to any member of the Marcus family.  “Thank you.”

He glanced at his stepsister and saw that she understood that he referred to much more than for tending to his injuries. Despite his pain, Spock managed to smile at Carol. The softening of her expression in return was satisfaction enough for Spock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Things are a little sad now in the story, but they will improve in time. Hang in there, everyone. (I promise for a longer chapter next update!) ~ RK


	11. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone still interested in this story. I hope the wait is worth it. ~ RK

Hikaru Sulu had no idea of the events that had occurred at the home of Viscount Marcus that day.   While word traveled quickly, it did not travel so quickly that he would know of what had happened anywhere until a visitor or courier happened to arrive at his master’s residence.  If Sulu wanted to hear the latest gossip, he would devise some errand that would require him to go into the town or at the least across the property lines to speak to the Pikes or Spock.  Their time in the marketplace allowed them to gather all kinds of gossip to do with the noble families. 

With Hikaru’s employer being a quiet and elderly sort of man, the likelihood of visitors had never been high.  He was surprised to hear a loud racket approaching the gate to the estate. That alone was strange.  He abandoned his task of meticulously trimming the hedges into sharp and even squares in order to see the identity of this rare visitor.  As he dusted off his hands on his dirt-smudged apron, his mouth opened in shock at the sight of the person leading the horses to the gate. 

“Lady Marcus?” he asked, breathless with disbelief. 

Carol looked wild.  Her hair was disheveled, unkempt, and dripped with sweat.  Her skin flushed with exertion.  What made Sulu look twice, though, was the unusual combination of hurt and determination in her usually kind eyes.  “Could you manage to store some things on your lord’s estate?” she asked.  Sulu noted that she did not order it like her sister or father would have done.  She asked it.  He nodded dumbly, and then went to open the gate to permit her entrance onto the property.  He stood there wondering what Carol was about to do.  Her shoulders slumped as he did nothing.  “I think I may need some help with this,” she admitted quietly.  “The horses don’t seem to like me very much.”

That made Sulu smile as he reached to take charge of leading the horses from her.  “I find that hard to believe.”

Carol huffed.  “Really?” she asked, disbelivingly.

Sulu shrugged as he easily brought the horses and the cart through the gate.  Carol took the initiative to close it again.  “Well, because out of your whole family, you’re the nicest.  If the horses would like anyone, they’d have to like you.”  He realized what he’d just implied and turned back to Carol, expecting a reprimand.  Instead, she stared at him with moist eyes.  “I didn’t mean to say it like—”

“No, I understand,” she interrupted.  “It took me until today, but I do understand.”  Saying it out loud made her feel a little lighter, a little less burdened. 

They walked along the drive that led to the house for several minutes in silence.  Sulu kept a slow pace for her sake.  Carol still seemed winded and frustrated about something, which he assumed to be from her difficulty with the horses.  Sulu turned to look at the contents loaded onto the cart.  The compartments on the cart looked old and out of fashion and style.  Before he could stop himself the question found his voice.  “What’s in all those?”

Carol stopped walking and swallowed hard.  Sulu realized that she was swallowing her emotions so that she could speak.  “Everything that’s left in the manor that used to belong to Lord Sarek and Lady Amanda.” 

Sulu stared at Carol for a long moment, understanding the cause for her determination in doing this herself.  Viscount Marcus probably had no knowledge of her actions.  That alone would prompt him to assist her.  However, with Carol’s arrival, Sulu did not have to go into the market in order to find out something of great personal interest through the gossiping groups among the masses.  His informant had come to him today.  “What happened?” he asked. 

Carol swallowed hard again before she could speak.  Sulu listened as Carol told him what had occurred that morning at the manor next door. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

Spock still lay asleep on his stomach, the salve working on the lashes on his back.  Pike and Natasha had let him rest since Carol had left the room with the sodden rags that soaked up the mixture of blood and water in the bowl.  Pike had stayed upstairs and watched over Spock’s dreams or nightmares while the downstairs became bustling with activity.  He didn’t even care what was happening down there.  His only concern was Spock, and the injuries Viscount Marcus had inflicted on him.

Natasha had been involved in the commotion on the lower floors while Pike sat vigil.  She’d assisted Carol in silence as the younger woman discarded the bloodied rag and threw the water outside.  Carol cleaned her supplies and the bowl quietly in Natasha’s company.  She only spoke when everything had been put away in its place again.  “I need your help, Natasha,” Carol said so quietly that Natasha almost didn’t hear her.  Carol took a deep breath and then turned to meet the servant’s dark and hardened eyes.  She wasn’t angry at Carol.  She deserved no such anger, especially not after having just tended to Spock.  All of it she reserved for the Viscount and Lady Janice, but it would always fester in Natasha’s spirit because she could never express those feelings to either of those that deserved it. 

Carol shrank away from her angry posture, but firmed her lips determinedly.  “Gather everything in this house that belonged to Lady Amanda and Lord Sarek,” she commanded.  “I want it hidden away from my father and sister so they can never do what they did today.  I can’t watch that again.”

Stunned, Natasha stood there in the kitchen.  In that moment, Natasha realized for a certainty that Carol Marcus was nothing like her despicable sister or her horrible father.  Carol had the kindness of her stepmother, the Lady Amanda.  She had not expected this trait in any of the Marcuses, but to find it in Carol comforted Natasha.  Her surprise was so great that she couldn’t even offer a response to Carol.  The blonde seemed to understand this, however, and continued to speak.  “But we have to finish before they come back.”  Carol came towards her slowly, approaching Natasha like she would lash out at her.  Natasha couldn’t if she wanted to do so.  She was still too surprised by Carol’s words.  Carol smiled gently at her.  “Do you know where their things are?”

Natasha nodded.  Her own movement freed her voice again.  “Yes,” she answered.  “Let me get Pavel to help us.”

Carol nodded.  “Thank you.”

Natasha could only nod at her, acknowledging her words.  Then she went to get her son to help them.  It was less than an hour later, after sending Carol off with a loaded cart to the neighboring estate, that she climbed the stairs back to her husband and Spock.  She wanted to tell them of Carol’s kindness.  But the conversation she overheard made all thoughts of such a thing vanish from her mind.

“I will not place you at risk again by such foolishness,” Spock said softly though resolutely.  “My actions have already brought enough pain to this family.”

Pike had a selection of clothing draped over one arm that had clearly been borrowed from the Viscount’s wardrobe.  “There’s very little else Marcus can do to hurt us any worse than he already has, son.”

Spock whirled to face Pike, hissing in pain as his back protested the movement.  “Have you forgotten that he’d sold you?  That he separated you from your wife and son without any remorse?”

“Spock—”

“Because I have not forgotten that,” Spock interrupted.  “I could never forget what it did to Pavel, to your wife, and to me when we understood that you would not be coming home again.  Why do you think I risked so much to bring you back?”  Natasha grabbed the doorframe to keep herself standing.  She remembered that day all too well.  It seemed so long ago but it had only been less than a week.  “Because I could not permit that much pain and sorrow to exist in my mother’s house.”

Pike’s eyes shined with tears, but he wiped them away furiously.  “Neither can I, Spock.  I can’t allow you to be so unhappy.”  He walked to Spock and stood in front of him, giving the Vulcan no choice but to look into his eyes.  “But I’ve seen you happier in the last few days than I have in years, and that was when Prince James was near you.”

Spock shook his head.  “I will not speak of this.” He turned away from Pike, intending to leave the room, only to be stopped short at Natasha blocking the doorway and thus his retreat. 

“Spock, you have a chance to keep that happiness you have with the prince.  How often do you think a chance like that will happen to you?” Pike persisted. 

He looked at Natasha, silently begging her to stand aside to let him escape.  She stood her ground.  Spock sighed miserably.  “When he finds out who—what—I am, he will have no choice but to uphold the law and to put me to death.  That is what I risked when I dressed as a lord and freed you.”

“Does he love you?” Pike asked.

Spock closed his eyes, remembering the previous evening he shared with Jim in the tent. 

 

 _Jim looked into his eyes.  “I love you.”_ _Then, Jim joined their bodies and moved above him, in him, and with him, driving Spock to experience sensations he never thought he would learn, to feel emotions he hadn’t known he was capable of feeling, and craving to be touched by this man in ways he never expected he would desire._

_His lover laced their fingers together and anchored Spock’s hand to the bedding, watching his reaction.  Spock gasped as Jim pressed their palms together.  Jim smiled at him before lowering himself fully onto Spock trailing kisses from his collarbone up the column of his neck and along his jawline.  Spock shivered as he felt and heard the prince’s heavy breaths against his skin.  “Oh,” Spock exhaled softly, barely aware that he’d reached up with his uncaptured hand to clutch at his lover’s shoulder blade to keep him against his own body.  He wanted to maintain maximum contact between them.  He wanted to feel the weight of Jim pressing him down onto the bed.  “Jim,” he sighed._

_The prince moaned against the racing pulse of his throat. “I love you, Sybok,” he said again, then kissed him just below his earlobe._

 

Spock shook his head.  “He loves Sybok, a lord of the planet Vulcan, not Spock, the servant belonging to Viscount Marcus.”

Pike took Spock’s chin and forced him to look at him.  “He loves _you_ , Spock.  Your name won’t matter.” 

He wanted so much to believe Pike.  “Names are important to some people.  I cannot lie to him.  I do not wish to anymore.”

“Then don’t,” Natasha said, as if it were that simple.

Spock huffed in frustration.  “Do you not understand?  If I tell him who I am, he will believe I have lied to him during our association, that I’ve deliberately deceived him.  To lie to royalty is a terrible offense and I have done so repeatedly.  I cannot fix this in a way that will bring about a positive outcome to anyone.  Either I will be imprisoned and separated from all that I know and hold dear to me, or I will be executed.  The only acceptable option is to remain as I am, to disappear from his life, and—”

“To give up your own happiness,” Natasha finished.

Spock nodded.  “I have done so before.  It will not be so difficult to do so again.”

“Yes it will,” she said, knowing the reality of her words.  “When he sold Chris, it was like he did worse than take my husband away.  And then when you went to get him back for us, I wondered if I were about to lose both of you.”  She cupped Spock’s cheek tenderly.  “I can’t describe what I felt when I saw you and Chris walking towards me that afternoon.  Relief, happiness, yes, but so much more than that.”  She brushed the light bruise on Spock’s face.  “But if you give up now, if you let your chance to be happy slip away, you’ll know how I felt when my husband was taken from me.  No one should ever experience something like that.”  She smiled feebly at him, hoping she reached him.  “You deserve the prince, Spock.  Don’t willingly give him to someone like Janice.”

Spock chest tightened in pain.  He knew that the Viscount hoped to arrange a marriage between Janice and the Prince.  He also knew that he had the Prince’s affection.  “I do not wish to deliver him to her, either.”

“Then go to him.”  Natasha remembered that Spock, upon his dawn arrival home that morning, had mentioned that the Prince asked him to meet him that day.  “He’s waiting for you. You, Spock.”

Spock closed his eyes in resignation.  He had no choice now.  He nodded to both of them.  He heard Pike come closer and knew he was about to help him dress to look the part of S’haile Sybok.  “I picked green for you today,” Pike said, his tone serious and apologetic all at once, “so no one would see it if your back starts to bleed.”

“Thank you,” he replied then allowed Pike to help him dress in Viscount Marcus’s clothes once again. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Viscount Marcus tried to hide his pleased grin with his cup of tea as the Queen fussed over Janice’s discolored eye when his daughter mentioned how she’d been unfortunately injured.  He’d given her free reign to come up with an excuse that would make her look the perfect candidate for a royal bride.  Janice had chosen to play the maternal instinct card for the Queen, and it had earned a perfect response. 

Queen Winona gasped and smiled in respect as Janice regaled her with the tale of saving another woman’s infant son from a horrifying situation in the marketplace that morning.  The boy had wandered from his mother and Janice spied him some distance away.  At that moment, a group of bandits had started heading over to the lone child, their body language clearly indicating their intention to take the boy, to abduct him.  Janice would not stand for that, and raced to snatch the boy up in her arms, pretending to be his mother.  The ruffian, a huge, burly, and somewhat dirty man, hurled insulting words at her and demanded she hand over the child to him.  When she refused, the men tried to pry the child from her arms, but she did not let him go.  For her stubbornness, she received a hard blow to the eye, which sent her to the ground.  By that point, others came to her defense and drove the vile almost-kidnappers away. 

“Why didn’t you call for the Royal Guards, child?” the Queen asked, enraptured by Janice’s story. 

“Oh,” Janice sighed, her mind reeling for any excuse to the perfectly reasonable question.  “It all happened so quickly that if I had tried to call for the guards, I would think they would have taken that boy before they arrived,” she said without thinking too much about her answer.  “So I stood my ground as long as I could.”

Winona’s hand found its way to her chest as she tried to control her own overwhelming emotions.  “And all for another woman’s son.  How very brave of you.”

Viscount Marcus smiled in approval at Janice’s shy and embarrassed expression.  “She has always been unafraid to stand up for those less fortunate and unable to defend themselves,” he said proudly.  She was doing splendidly during this luncheon. 

“I so wish my son could have been here to hear the story,” Queen Winona lamented casually.  “He would have been as captivated as I am with you.”

The Queen presented the Viscount with just the opportunity he needed to ask after Prince James.  “I had thought he would be in attendance this afternoon,” he stated, offering the bait to the prince’s mother.  “My Janice was so looking forward to seeing him today.”

Winona sighed.  “He seems to disregard our wishes the last several days,” she confessed.  Then, a proud smile transformed her expression.  “He’s shown a remarkable interest in fostering relations with foreign races and planets, which he’s never cared to do before this week.  James has been working very hard to develop ideas for stronger ties to our allies and even to bring new relations into play for Terra.  I couldn’t be prouder of him for that.”  Then, she seemed to remember that she spoke to a girl and her father, the former of which Winona invited here to test her suitability for her son.  “Though, I do regret that his attention to state affairs has not afforded him equal opportunity to enjoy your company, my dear girl.”

“You are too kind, Majesty,” Janice replied with a bright smile that only her father knew to be insincere.

“Is there anything my daughter can do to assist His Highness in his efforts?” Viscount Marcus asked.  He wanted to know exactly what the Prince thought could be more important than spending time with his future bride, and he knew the only way he could hope to find out about his activities was through the very woman they were enjoying tea with out in the Royal Gardens.  This luncheon marked the second event that the Prince neglected to meet Janice and the Viscount would learn the reason for it. 

Winona sipped her tea with deliberate slowness.  It gave her time to analyze Lady Janice’s father.  She could tell that her son’s absence today offended him on his daughter’s behalf.  She could understand that.  What she did not approve of was his attempt to pry into her son’s affairs when there existed no formally declared match between Lady Janice and James.  No proposal had been given, and no offer of marriage had been made to Lady Janice.  Without it, neither Lady Janice nor Viscount Marcus had any right to know of the comings and goings of anyone in the Royal Family.  With that thought, Queen Winona decided to test Lady Janice.  “How much do you know of Vulcan culture, child?” she asked.

The question surprised Janice, but she concealed that surprise well.  “I admit, I do not know very much about their rituals or anything very particular, Your Majes—”

“The Vulcans are the Royal Family’s closest ally and trade partner, as you know,” Winona reminded Lady Janice, as she casually set her teacup onto the saucer.  “So, should you hope to wed my son, you will have to educate yourself quite thoroughly on Vulcans, their history, their language, and their culture.”

Janice nodded with a soft smile.  “Of course, Your Majesty.”  Inside, however, Janice seethed.  Of course the conversation would turn to Vulcans.  There was one Vulcan in particular she wanted to strangle with her own hands, and that was the very same pointy-eared devil that gave her a bruised eye. 

“While the King has given the Prince liberty to choose his own bride, for now there still exists a marriage contract between us and the Vulcan people,” Winona informed Lady Janice, watching the girl’s expression carefully.  “The Prince has been spending much of his time with some of Vulcan’s nobility in order to preserve our relationship with their people should he choose a bride other than the one the King and I had arranged for him.”

Viscount Marcus hoped that Janice heard the words the Queen did not explicitly state. _The King and I will determine whether or not our son’s choice is worthy of him._   He knew that if the King and Queen did not approve of Janice, then the Prince would continue with the arranged marriage and wed a Vulcan woman.  All of their efforts and scheming would be for nothing.  He would not allow that to happen.  “I’m certain that my daughter will prove an excellent student in growing accustomed to interactions with the Vulcan people.”

Janice took her father’s cue quickly.  “I’m eager to help His Highness in any way that I can.”

This was precisely what Winona had hoped the girl would say.  She provided her with just the opportunity to ask something she could never seem to ask her own son.  “Instead of assisting my son, perhaps you could assist me,” she said. 

Janice and Viscount Marcus focused their attention solidly on the Queen, both recognizing the importance of what she was about to request of Janice. 

Winona looked directly at Janice when she posed her question.  “Do you know S’haile Sybok, son of Skon?  My son has been spending a great deal of time with him,” she admitted, “most likely to strengthen ties with the Vulcan nobles before T’sai T’Pring arrives.”  The Vulcan lord’s residence and details of his identity had puzzled her for days since James had first mentioned him.  The desire to learn more about this mysterious Vulcan only increased when her son told her and George that he’d spent all of last night with the Vulcan.  She even wondered if James’s interest in the Vulcan indicated something more than state business after her husband had noted a change in their son that morning.  “I only know that he is staying somewhere near your estate, with a family acquaintance, but no one seems able to tell me more than that, not even our extensive records.”

Viscount Marcus stiffened.  A Vulcan lord staying in a neighboring estate?  This did not sound familiar to him.  He tried to think if he’d heard or seen anyone visiting the estates and manors surrounding his property.  However, the name Sybok triggered a sense of familiarity in his memory, though he had trouble placing the name and how he recognized it.  With a glance to Janice, he could see she was thinking the same, or similar, things.  “Near my own estate, you said, Your Majesty?” he asked to be sure he heard her correctly.

“Yes,” she confirmed.  “Or so I’ve heard it mentioned.  My son was with him last night, apparently, and only returned after sunrise this morning.”

Viscount Marcus stiffened further.  Spock had returned to the manor near sunrise.  That could not be a coincidence.  He realized that it had not been a coincidence. 

With abrupt clarity, he recalled where he’d heard the name Sybok before that moment.  It had been said only once very early in his brief relationship with his dead wife, with Spock’s mother.  She’d been telling him for the countless time about her precious and disgusting half-breed son, and the joy she and her Vulcan husband experienced when Spock had been born healthy and strong. Her first child had not been as fortunate as Spock and had been sickly for the entirety of his short life before dying.  That first half-breed’s name had been Sybok, but he was not Skon’s son. 

“While I don’t know of any S’haile Sybok, son of Skon,” Viscount Marcus said, trying not to choke on the noble title.  “I do know of a S’haile Sybok, son of Sarek.”  He was grateful for the Queen’s attention being on him in that moment and not Janice’s openly puzzled expression.

“Perhaps I misheard his father’s name,” Winona mused aloud.  She could have sworn that James had clearly said the father’s name was Skon, though.  Unlike Samuel, James was unusually good with remembering names, especially of those people that caught his interest.

“You must have,” Viscount Marcus agreed.  “Because your mystery is solved, Your Majesty.”  When she looked at him curiously, he knew he could plant the seeds he needed in order to bring Prince James’s attention to where it rightfully belonged.  With Janice.  “S’haile Sybok isn’t staying at an estate near to my own.  He’s actually staying in my home as my guest.  Isn’t that right, my dear?”

Janice hadn’t realized until that moment that her mouth had been open in shock at her father’s words.  She’d only just understood what they were all discussing.  This supposed Vulcan lord was actually her filthy step-brother, a disgusting creature who could never be worthy of the Prince’s discarded food scraps to say nothing of his attention in any way other than scorn.  The thought that the Prince had spurned her for that half-breed beast was offensive.  She scrambled to contribute something useful to her father’s information to the Queen.  “Yes, of course!” she sputtered.  “Sybok’s our cousin, and stays with us often!”

Winona smiled.  “How wonderful!” she exclaimed.  “I’d started to think my son invented him so he could escape his duties.”  There was finally some progress being made about her son’s mysterious companion.  “I am very interested in meeting him.  You should have brought him with you today.”

 This was not at all progressing how Viscount Marcus had planned.  The Queen’s attention should have been on Janice and her suitability to marry Prince James.  Instead, without even being present, that Vulcan-Human mongrel managed to steal Her Majesty’s interest away from Janice.  This moment marked the final straw for Viscount Marcus.  He resolved to do something about that irritant once and for all when they returned to the manor.  “Unfortunately, he was unwell this morning and needed to remain at the manor today.  He had—” Viscount Marcus smiled as he thought of the perfect reason for Spock’s absence.  “—personal matters to see to that required his immediate attention.”

“Oh?” Winona asked, her joy sobering instantly.  “What sort of matters?”

Viscount Marcus hoped the Queen would ask that very question. 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Carol sighed with relief as the manor came into view again.  Helping Hikaru hide the trunks of items that had previously belonged to Lady Amanda and Lord Sarek had been exhausting.  Hikaru had pressed her to rest after they’d finished, but she had refused.  What if her sister and father returned while she rested?  They’d wonder where she’d gone.  They’d demand to know where she’d been because Carol never had gone anywhere on her own in her entire life.  She’d had many opportunities to do so, considering her family never minded her much to begin with, but she did not dare rebel.  She did not wish for her father to treat her as he treated Spock. Carol could not believe he would resort to the same punishment with her as he had with Spock.  Yet after the events of this morning, she did not know what to believe regarding the limits of her father’s capabilities and her sister’s cruelty. 

She left the horses and the cart to Sulu’s care and walked from the stables to the house, dragging her feet with exhaustion.  She’d done all of this solely on her adrenaline and anger from the events of the morning.  How did Pike, his family, and Spock do this every day even when they were ill or injured?  Her eyes watered in remorse for the times she ignored the servants of the manor and for the times she took her stepbrother’s strength for granted.  The only comfort she took was that she had always acknowledged Spock’s presence and his attendance to her during meals and daily chores.  He had always been kinder towards her than Janice, her own sister.  She wondered if that was due to Lady Amanda’s influence on Spock, or if that were simply Spock’s innate kindness.  For all she knew, it could have been a mixture of both.  Whatever the source of Spock’s goodness, Carol was grateful for it and for him. 

Carol entered the quiet house and had the urge to check in on her stepbrother.  She’d seen his torn back herself and the sight of his injuries had nearly made her sick.  That her father had done this to Spock himself made her nausea worse.  She’d tended to Spock because she wanted to help him.  She wanted him to know that she did not approve of what had happened this morning.  She did not want him to dislike her, too. 

“Carol,” Natasha called her as she came out of the sitting room where Janice had thrown Lady Amanda’s book into the fire. 

She turned to face the older woman, surprised by her voice in the silent house.  “I was going to check on Spock,” she said. 

Natasha stiffened.  She needed to keep Carol oblivious to Spock’s whereabouts.  “He is sleeping and needs rest.”

Carol nodded, understanding Natasha’s protectiveness.  “I won’t bother him.”

“And solitude,” Natasha interrupted.  “He is injured and should be undisturbed until your father and sister return to hurt him further.”

Had this been earlier this week, Carol would have defended her family.  However, time and the actions of her family had shifted her perspective to such a degree that she no longer had the desire to defend them.  Instead, she simply accepted what Natasha said with a nod.  “Is he still in pain?” she asked.  Her concern was her stepbrother now, not her father or sister. 

Natasha’s expression deflated.  “He was flogged this morning,” she stated.  She shouldn’t have to elaborate on that.  It wasn’t something from which someone could miraculously heal within hours. 

The Viscount’s younger daughter, while accustomed to being lonely and emotionally neglected by her father, had no grasp on what it meant to be the special target of emotional and psychological abuse from a parental figure.  Carol still received acknowledgement as the Viscount’s daughter, though her worth was never explored nor praised.  Her value was simply ignored and dismissed as irrelevant.  With Spock, the Viscount had gone out of his way to reshape him, to instill worthlessness, self-loathing, and unworthiness into his mind.  He taken Spock’s nobility and confidence and joy and transformed him into something far less than himself.  Though, despite his efforts, the Viscount could not take away Spock’s goodness, his grace, or his intelligence.   Natasha suspected that was something that irritated the Viscount most, the things he could not take away from Spock. 

Carol nodded.  “That was a stupid question.  I’m sorry.”  She closed her eyes and composed herself again, trying to decide the best question to ask instead.  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Natasha knew that Carol was trying.  Carol was a good person, and deserved better than what her father gave her.  She’d always been the friendlier of the girls, the one who would speak to the servants, though maintaining that distinction between their respective social statuses.  But Carol had a kindness that Janice and the Viscount lacked.  She also knew that today’s events had brought an awareness to Carol regarding her own family that hadn’t been present before, and that such a realization would be difficult to reconcile mentally and emotionally.  “You’ve helped clean his back this morning – that is enough for now,” she offered mercifully.  “Spock just needs to rest, alone, and in the quiet.  He will be up and working once your father and sister come back from the palace.” 

Carol nodded and then turned away from Natasha, desiring solitude herself.  With her sister and father gone, the house was quiet, peaceful even, and she intended to enjoy that until they returned. 

Not for the first time since Janice received the invitation from the Queen, Carol’s chest tightened in saddened jealousy for her sister.  Not because she had been invited to lunch with the Queen, a feat engineered by her father for the sole purpose of subtly convincing Her Majesty that Janice would be the best match for the Prince, but for something else. 

Without realizing it, Carol found herself in the doorway of her sister’s rooms, and her attention riveted to a vase on Janice’s vanity.  It was in that moment that Carol understood her own feelings, her own jealousy.  The cause was very simple.  Carol wasn’t jealous that Janice had been invited to lunch with the Queen.  Carol’s jealousy stemmed from the fact that Janice had been invited to the palace.  She would have enjoyed attending the lunch as well, but her father denied her that joy.  Surely even he had to know that Carol had no interest whatsoever in Prince James.  If he liked her sister, then the Prince could have her. 

She went to the vase and pulled one of the beautiful, hand-picked pink roses free from the rest.  She brought the bloom to her nose and inhaled deeply. 

Carol was jealous of Janice’s visit to the palace, and angry at her father’s refusal for her to accompany them, for a simple reason.  She wanted to see Captain McCoy again.  As the Prince’s shadow, he would surely, at the very least, be present at the luncheon this afternoon.  He would stand within eyesight, his eyes taking in the surroundings for potential threats, his body ready to defend the future king.  He would occasionally meet Carol’s eyes and they would soften when he gazed at her.  They did when he presented her with flowers yesterday.  Carol would blush and smile shyly back him, and her reaction would coax a barely perceptible smile from the Captain of the Guard.  She would draw strength from that small smile and her heart would beat faster in the pleasure of being noticed for herself, not for being Janice’s sister, or as Viscount Marcus’s other daughter.  Captain McCoy saw her as Carol, as his lady.  To Carol, Captain McCoy embodied what she wanted in a man and that made him a prince in her eyes. 

Carol took the rose from Janice’s rooms and wandered into her own, smelling the scent of the flower with every step.  She looked out of her window and imagined her captain riding through the gate on his horse, swinging his leg over in a fluid dismount when he brought the horse to a halt near the front of the house.  He would stop briefly to dust his clothing off, to be sure he looked presentable, and then he would activate the door’s chime. 

She heard it clearly in her mind, but in reality the house was silent, and the chime never sounded. 

Carol sighed and took the rose across her rooms.  She climbed onto her bed and lay down, holding the rose near her enough to still catch the scent as she slept, hoping to dream of the masque tomorrow, and how her prince would spend it with only her like she was the only one worthy of his attention. 

She did not expect to have those dreams disappear due to the reality of her father and sister shouting downstairs.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Hikaru Sulu raced down the road on horseback, determined to catch up to Spock before he met the Prince.  Natasha had instructed him clearly.  “Make sure he is home soon – no more than two hours.  I don’t know when the Viscount is returning, but Spock should be here before them.”  She tossed a bundle of clothing into one of the stalls in the stables.  “His spare clothes.  He should change here.  I’ll get the Viscount’s clothing later to wash them, so leave them here.  He went along the marketplace road only five minutes ago, so you should be able to catch him quickly.”  Hikaru jumped onto the horse and brought the mare to a gallop even before they passed the property gate. 

He saw Spock ahead.  At least, he thought it was Spock.  A lone rider, wearing fine riding clothes, but with long, black hair.  Hikaru knew of no other who would fit that description that would also happen to be traveling on this road.  Remembering that Spock looked like a Vulcan Lord now, Hikaru needed to address him as such, “My Lord!” he called, trying to get Spock’s attention.  His concern grew when Spock did not react at all.  He urged the mare a little harder to finish catching up with his friend.

Spock’s mind swirled with possible scenarios of how this meeting would go between him and Prince James.  He did not feel the joy he believed he should at the idea of meeting his lover.  He only felt dread and sadness.  This could not continue after today.  He did not believe he could endure the emotional strain anymore.  He could not endure the lies.  He did not wish to do this anymore, especially not after the events of the morning.  He wanted nothing but to return home and remain in peace, even if it meant being at the Viscount’s mercy.  With the burning of his mother’s book, there was very little else they could do to hurt him. 

He jumped when another horse came up beside his own.  “Hikaru!” he gasped in shock.  “What are you doing here?”

Hikaru gave him an apologetic smile.  “I’m here to make sure you get home on time.”

Spock’s melancholy mood only got worse with that reminder that had he returned at a decent time, nothing that had happened this morning would have occurred.  All of this was his fault.  His mother’s gift was gone forever because of him.  He’d been bound to a post and viciously flogged by the Viscount because he’d punched Janice in the eye for the hurtful things she’d said.  He deserved the lashings, every one of them.  And now, he was going to meet the prince, his lover, only to sever their ties and whatever hopeless affair they’d somehow began.  He would go home and stay there under the watchful eye of the Viscount, to be seen by no one, and to stop putting his family at risk. 

Romantic love caused more pain than it was worth in Spock’s opinion.  If it only brought pain like this, he did not want that kind of love.  And so he would meet James, tell him they could not be together from this day forward, and leave him behind.  He would do it quickly, and with as little pain as possible.  He’d already endured more than he could bear.  He wanted no more of it.  “I do not need a keeper,” he said miserably.  “This will not be a lengthy meeting.”

Hikaru did not like this sadness in his friend.  Not at all.  “I’m also here to get you out of the situation in case you get hurt.”

Spock managed a grateful smile.  “I doubt he would hurt me.”  He swallowed the lump in his throat.  “But, unlike the Prince, my purpose in meeting him today is solely to hurt him.”

“He has to see that you don’t want to hurt him, though, right?”  Sulu doubted that Spock could ever have fallen in love with someone who was not also a genuinely good person.  Spock would not have given his heart as he had to the Prince if Spock believed him unworthy of it.

“Perhaps in time he will understand,” Spock agreed.  “But initially, I suspect he will hate me for this.”

Hikaru did not know the Prince.  He only spoke with him once.  He had no authority to reassure Spock that the Prince would not hate him.  They would only be empty words.  So he held his tongue and they continued down the road in silence until Spock spoke in a voice so quiet he almost missed it.  “I am grateful that you are here with me.”

Hikaru didn’t know what to say in response.  Luckily, he did not have to say anything.  From the woods between the road and the river walked the older man that had accompanied the Prince when the royal had met Sulu while tracking down a beagle pup. 

“Good to see you, S’haile Sybok,” the man said with a friendly smile.  The Captain of the Guard’s amiability only made Spock’s chest tighten.  The man, like the Prince, had no idea that Spock intended to end this ill-advised relationship today.  He struggled to maintain his composure and not to give away his injuries as he dismounted his horse.  Sulu followed his example and immediately played the role of servant by grasping the reins of Spock’s mount for him.  McCoy nodded to his left.  “That way,” he directed him.  Spock took a deep breath.  “Relax, S’haile Sybok,” McCoy said reassuringly.  “He’s excited to see you.”

This did not encourage Spock at all, but he did his best to pretend that it did.  Every sound his boots caused as he walked towards where he knew the prince waited were thunderous to Spock’s ears.  Every snapped twig, every disturbed rock, every gentle thud his weight made when he stepped on loose dirt drowned out all other surrounding sounds.  He did not hear the birds singing, he did not hear the gentle flow of the river.  He heard the heavier sounds around him.  Spock could not look up as he approached the Prince.  He suspected that his resolve would fade the moment he saw Jim’s smile. 

“Sybok!”  He heard the eager footsteps of the Prince as he met him in the middle of the trees and forestry.  “You came,” Jim said, the smile so clear in his voice that Spock did not need to see it.  Apparently, his resolve cracked just hearing Jim’s smile.  He did not even have to see it. 

“Yes,” he whispered, only managing to look no higher than the Prince’s chest. 

Jim was concerned by Sybok’s withdrawn behavior.  This was not the same person to whom he’d said ‘goodbye’ this morning.  Perhaps Sybok was still tired from last night.  Thinking of last night made him smile.  Last night they had truly become lovers, they had worshipped each other intimately, and Jim had fallen deeply in love with this Vulcan.  When he’d bargained for one week to find a spouse of his choosing, he had never anticipated actually falling in love with someone.  But, unexpectedly, he had and he was happy.  But Vulcans were very private and emotions came with difficulty for them.  Perhaps last night had overwhelmed Sybok.  He would try to take things slow today in consideration of that.  He reached for Sybok’s hand, his first two fingers extended, and ran them down Sybok’s wrist, the back of his hand, and his index and middle finger, before Jim slid his fingers to the side and curled them around Sybok’s corresponding digits. 

The kiss surprised him, and his eyes darted up to the Prince’s before he could prevent it.  Immediately, he looked down again, taking deliberate care in his attempt to keep the right side of his face away from the Prince’s sight.  His cheek bore a faint discoloration from the Viscount’s strike this morning.  Jim could not see it.  He would question it, and Spock did not wish to provide the answers to those questions nor did he wish to lie to him anymore.  Spock nearly sighed in relief when Jim cupped his right cheek, despite the faint sting from the contact, to tilt his face up to meet his eyes.   

 Jim smiled softly at him and, with only that tender expression, succeeded to steal Spock’s voice from him.  “I’m glad you could get away.  I couldn’t wait to see you.” 

Spock struggled to speak.  “I cannot stay long.”

Jim stepped closer to him.  “That’s okay.  We don’t need long for this.”  That the Prince did not plan for a long meeting between them relieved Spock immensely.  “Come with me,” the Prince said, turning away from Spock, but tightening their finger-embrace so he could lead Spock through that contact.  “I want to show something.”

Spock stared at their intertwined fingers as he was led by the Prince.  He tightened his mental shields.  The temptation to bask in the Prince’s love for him proved exhausting to resist, but he knew that if only hearing Jim’s smile began to tear down his resolve, then surely feeling the Prince’s love telepathically would destroy it.  He could not leave this rendezvous without explicitly telling the Prince they could not continue this affair. 

Soon enough their progress halted and Jim stepped to the side so he did not block the view he wanted Spock to see.  “What do you think?” he asked nervously.  Carefully arranged before Spock was a humble picnic with carefully chosen décor, food, and drink.  A small fire had been built, the logs crackling enticingly.  A makeshift table had been arranged on a large and obliging rock upon which had been set two glasses and several dishes of foods Spock had never before seen.  Small pillows rested on the spread furs and blankets.  The Prince had spent time to prepare this, and, had this been yesterday, that knowledge would have pleased Spock, but on that day it caused his heart to break just a little more.

“You should not have,” Spock whispered through his emotion, lowering his gaze to the ground. 

Jim came to stand before him.  “Sybok,” he said, waiting for him to look up.  When he saw the moisture in Spock’s eyes, he misunderstood it.  He saw overwhelming emotion but he thought it to be affection his lover had difficulty expressing.  He had no way to know it to be heartbreak.  “I wanted to do this.  For you.” 

“Your Highness,” Spock began, thinking it might be best to get it over with sooner than later.  “I—”  His voice was stolen by the Prince’s lips.  Spock moaned in frustration.  Every moment was making it harder to tell the Prince they would not see each other after this day. 

Jim heard Spock’s soft moan and was encouraged by it.  Keeping their lips joined, he stepped backwards until he felt the blanket below his foot.  He curled his hand around Spock’s neck to keep them joined as he lowered himself to the ground, giving his lover little option but to follow him.    Spock did not wish to fight him, but he did not wish to encourage this.  “Your Highness,” he gasped as he pulled away from the kiss. 

The Prince smiled at him.  “Jim,” he corrected, and then kissed Spock again. 

“Jim,” Spock said between kisses.  “Please, stop.”

That one word made the Prince freeze. He swore he would not overwhelm Sybok today, he would do everything properly, yet here they were in this position. “I’m sorry, I—I thought.”  He grimaced at his own inability to keep his physical and emotional excitement at bay.    “I’m sorry.”  He released Spock, who immediately turned away from him.  This reaction made him bite his lip self-consciously.  He was doing everything all wrong.  “Sybok, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to push you or—”

  “It is not you,” Spock whispered, struggling to find the words he should say.  He’d rehearsed the very words he decided to say to the Prince in his mind, but now that the moment had arrived, the words did not reach his voice. 

Jim struggled to salvage this moment in his head.  What should he say?  What should he do?  He looked to the meal he’d arranged and prepared, wondering if he should try to calm Sybok by offering him something to eat or drink.  Then he spied the book he brought to return to his lover’s care.  He leaned to pick it up and then awkwardly held it in his hands.  When Spock didn’t look at him first, he knew he had to speak to regain his attention.  “Here,” he said, holding out the book to Spock.  “You forgot it this morning.”

Spock turned just enough to see Jim offering him the priceless bound book from the Royal Archives.  He gasped at the sight of it.  Another book favored by his mother.  If he were to accept it, he knew that it, too, would be taken from him and destroyed by flames.  Spock never wanted to touch another book again.  It would only be lost forever.  He would not be responsible for the loss of a priceless novel from the Royal Archives.  “I do not want it.”  The only book he ever wanted to touch again was one that had been reduced to ashes.  “But thank you.”

Jim’s brows furrowed in disturbed confusion.  “After all the effort you made to keep it from Lady Gaila’s hands?”  He thought Sybok had wanted to read it again.  He’d mentioned that it had been a favorite of his mother’s long ago.  Surely he would want to reacquaint himself with it.  Jim didn’t understand why Sybok behaved so withdrawn this afternoon when he’d welcomed his touch and kisses only hours ago.  “I want you to take it.”

Spock shook his head.  “I cannot.” He would not.

“Sybok,” Jim began, unsure of what exactly he wanted to say.  He inhaled deeply, hoping his next words would not send Sybok fleeing.  “Did something happen since this morning?”

He felt the Prince’s eyes on him, studying him.  Spock closed his eyes, willing himself into a state of calm.  “Many things have happened.”

Jim shifted closer to Spock.  “Are you alright?” 

“I am—” Spock scrambled for an appropriate word.  “—functional.”

That was not entirely helpful.  Jim looked down with a soft sigh, fingering the cover of the book contemplatively.  _A Tale of Two Cities_.  At this moment, he felt as far from Sybok as if they were in two cities, two very distant cities.  He opened the cover and flipped to the first page.  “It was the best of times,” he read aloud.

“It was the worst of times,” Spock finished.  He sighed.  Even without opening his mind to Jim, he could feel the Prince’s uncertainty, his hesitancy, both of which were unfitting of him.  

Jim looked back to Spock.  “Which one is this?” 

Spock shook his head.  “Both.”

Jim put the book aside and stood, walking over to the selection of food and drink he’d brought.  He needed a little wine for this.  This whole meeting was not how he had imagined it this morning.  Not at all.  ‘Don’t believe in the no-win scenario,’ Sam had told him.  Jim poured himself some wine and decided to try almost anything to salvage this situation. After a quick sip from his glass, he took a deep breath, and then began to pour the second glass for Sybok.  “I asked you to meet me today because I have something to tell you.”

Finally, there was an opening Spock needed to have his intended discussion with the Prince.  “I do as well.”

Jim blindly handed the glass to Spock, who accepted it after a moment’s hesitation.  Jim continued to prepare a certain special dish for Spock, one he’d intended to offer him days ago.  “What I said to you yesterday was true.  All of it.  I knew since we ate strawberries by this river that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Spock stiffened in terror.  No.  He could not be saying this.  It would make what Spock needed to say impossible to utter.  “Your Highness, please, don’t—”

Jim grit his teeth.  “Please let me say this.”  He never before had to ask to speak to anyone.  But he asked Sybok’s permission.  He needed Sybok’s permission. 

Spock sipped the wine, his despair increasing with every word the Prince spoke. 

When Sybok did not try to silence him again, Jim slowly began again.  “I knew for sure I loved you then, at that moment.  I could have started loving you even in the courtyard.  I don’t know.  But I do know that when you walked away from me the second time, I didn’t want you ever to walk away again.”  He finished preparing the humble dish, one with which he had grown very familiar.  The zahv-tor t’skamaya ritual of courtship.  He did not use strawberries this time.  Instead, he kept the original recipe intact and had prepared the Vulcan dish properly.  Gespar bread with favinit butter.  “I didn’t want to let you go this morning.”  He turned and lowered himself to kneel at Spock’s left side, holding the dish in one hand.  “I don’t ever want to let you go.” 

Spock knew he should speak, knew he should tell Jim then what he’d set out to say.  But he couldn’t do it.  The words would not come.  He could not say the words that would surely hurt Prince James as much as only thinking them hurt himself.  So, he sipped the wine again, swallowing the dry liquid along with his painful words. 

“I never expected to fall in love with anyone.  My father arranged a political marriage for me with someone I still haven’t met, expecting me to just marry her because it’s what I’m expected to do.  But then I met you.”  Jim smiled softly at Spock.  “I met you as you demanded the release of your servant.” 

Spock opened his mouth to correct him, to tell him that they had met hours earlier than that, when the Prince had tried to steal a horse from his stables and Spock had taken his feet from under him with a broom.  But he did not get further than the words, “Your Highness—” before the Prince continued talking.

“You lectured me about the problems with my father’s laws and it got me thinking about it.  You were right.  There needs to be changes made, and with my coming to rule after my father, I’ll be able to make those changes happen.”  He smiled and reached out to cradle Spock’s jaw in his left hand, gently coaxing his lover to look at him.  “This morning I proposed an Academy for all of Terra’s people, where everyone can study any discipline they wish, whether they’re noble-born or not, where they could become anything they want to be instead of trapped by their birth.  I would never have considered that if I hadn’t met you, if I hadn’t heard the passion in your voice when you spoke of the people and how we’ve overlooked the working class’s intelligence and skills for centuries.  I want to do better for my people because of you.  You inspire me to be better than I am, Sybok.  How could I not love you for that?”

Spock’s vision blurred.  “I did not inspire anything.  You do not need me.”

Jim chuckled.  “I think I need you more than both of us realize.  I never wanted to rule.  I was never supposed to until my brother abdicated.  And when he did, I was angry and hated that he forced me into this position.  But since I met you, and spoke with you, I don’t feel angry anymore about it.  And that made me feel—” He smiled as he found the right word.  “Free.  Like I could do anything and face coming into the throne when the time comes because I finally found the right partner with whom I want to share that.” 

Spock lowered his head to hide his agony.  How could he say what he’d intended to tell the Prince now?  After such beautiful words, how could Spock say the words that would negate everything the Prince had just said to him?  While he was tormented by the truth he could not say aloud, he barely noticed that his tears had finally broken.  He only noticed when Jim brushed his tears away with his thumbs.  Spock finally broke at that tenderness, and could not contain his agony anymore.  The sound he made was the whine of a wounded animal. 

Before he could control his tears and attempt to suppress his heartbreak all over again, the Prince slowly brought their lips together chastely, and thus sealed Spock’s fate.  He was in love with Jim, and he knew Jim loved him in return.  He could not ever tell him the truth.  Instead, and in that moment, Spock decided that he would simply disappear from Jim’s life this afternoon.  He would never set eyes on the Prince again, and the Prince would never look upon him in return.  In time, they would forget about each other.  But in the woods, in the time he had left, Spock wanted to remember everything, to feel everything, the bliss and the pain, because there with Jim he learned and understood what it meant to have been given another’s heart.  He could pretend for just this last time.

“Jim,” he whispered as they separated. 

He felt the Prince’s smile against his own lips.  “I did all of this in the wrong order,” he thought aloud.  He pulled away from Spock far enough to allow him to bring the Vulcan delicacy between them.  “This was supposed to be first,” he admitted with a new shyness.  He picked up a small piece of the bread in his fingers.  “It’s a Vulcan ritual.  I know you might not know it, but I wanted to do this with you for days now.”  He saw the question in his lover’s eyes.  He had no idea what this ritual entailed.  That he could explain it to Sybok delighted him, and he licked his lips nervously, trying to remember precisely how Miss  Uhura had worded it when she explained the ritual.  “It’s called the zahv-tor t’skamaya, or the Taste of Attraction.  It’s a courting ritual usually performed by a suitor who is asking someone for whom he or she feels affection whether or not their feelings are returned.  The suitor asks that question by offering a small piece of gespar bread and favinit butter to his or her intended.”  Jim pointedly looked at the bread he held between his fingers before looking again at Spock, who began to understand the solemnity and seriousness of the ritual the Prince wished to perform with him.  “If his suit is accepted and his feelings returned, the potential mate demonstrates his trust of the suitor by eating the bread from his fingers.”  He breathed deeply, shakily, as he raised the bread between them at the level of Spock’s lips.  He waited anxiously.  Would Sybok understand that he was actually offering more than courtship in this moment?  That Jim meant this as a proposal of marriage?  He hoped Sybok would understand. 

Spock stared at the offered bread, knowing he did not fully understand the ritual the Prince had just explained, yet able to determine that the Prince wanted to know if Spock loved him in return.  Did Jim not know?  How could he not know?  As he looked at the offered Vulcan bread, Spock realized that doing this particular courtship ritual was important to the Prince for some reason.  Spock was not as verbal as Jim in expressing his feelings.  With the zahv-tor t’shamaya ritual, Spock realized that Jim was giving him a way to admit to his own feelings without doing so verbally.  When he understood that, Spock found his voice uncooperative again.  Perhaps this was why this Vulcan ritual existed in the first place.  Spock decided to let his actions speak for him the words he could not say aloud. 

Spock leaned forward and slowly took the bread from Jim’s waiting fingers, shivering as he watched the Prince’s eyes dilate in pleasure.  Spock grew shy in his embarrassment of his actions, and in his self-consciousness in the way that the Prince gazed at him longingly.  He lowered his head to avoid his green blush being seen by the Prince.  Spock swallowed the bread, not even taking notice of the flavor of the gespar fruit he had never before tasted.  Jim wanted to see Sybok’s face, wanted to see the emotions he could not vocally express easily, and he reached out to hook his fingers beneath his lover’s chin to tilt his face up to him.  “Let me see you,” he said.

That request broke the blissful spell the courtship ritual had woven around them for Spock.  Jim could not see his face, especially not the right side of his face.  Instead, he turned to the right just enough to hide the light bruise and nodded to the meal laid out for them by the Prince.  “We should take the time to eat.  You have brought it all this way.”

Jim smiled at Sybok’s shy avoidance of further amorous activities.  He had nothing to be shy about considering the previous night.  But, he would indulge him this time.  “If you insist, then we shall eat.”

Spock managed to raise his left eyebrow teasingly at Jim.  “I do insist.”

Jim smiled, glad that Sybok’s mood had improved since his arrival.  “Okay, love.  Stay there.  I’ll make you a plate.”

Spock watched as Jim constructed an appealing assortment of foods onto a plate for him.  Jim, the Prince of Terra, willingly served Spock, the servant of Viscount Marcus.  The irony was not lost on Spock.  Despite that, he found Jim’s attentiveness pleasing and touching.  He no longer wished to ruin this afternoon by telling Jim the truth.  To fade away into the world after this day would be easier for them both, less painful, and ultimately the safer choice for Spock and his family.  He may have to alter something about his appearance in order to avoid the Prince recognizing him, but it could be done.  His heart would beat faster any time he would see Jim again, and there was the possibility that Jim would question Spock about being the Vulcan Lord named Sybok.  But in time, the Prince would accept that he was Spock, he did not know Sybok, and he certainly did not know the Prince.  In time, they would become the strangers they should have remained, and Jim would never look at him twice, but Spock would always long for him if only just to see Jim’s love for him in his eyes again. 

Jim’s return jarred Spock from his musing on his decision.  He handed him a plate and utensils.  “Are we not using your table?”

Jim shook his head.  “You looked comfortable here.  I’d rather you be comfortable and unconventional than the other way around.”  He speared some of the vegetables that had clearly been cooked in the small fire near them and began eating contentedly, even though his attention stayed with Spock.  He didn’t want to miss a single thing his lover did, and to see his expression as he ate the Vulcan foods he and McCoy had cooked over the fire shortly before Sybok’s arrival. 

McCoy had grumbled the entire process about how his duties did not include being Jim’s personal chef, but had laughed it off when he sampled some of the cooking with which he’d assisted.  After that, McCoy helped Jim cook the other foods with an endearing curiosity.  “What the hell is this thing, Jim?” he’d asked when he saw a rather bizarre-looking squash.  McCoy had liked it when he tried it.  “Not eating that spiked shellfish.  Don’t even try to order me to do it, ‘cause I won’t eat it.”  Neither of them could get that particular dish to cooperate and had given up.  Jim had been grateful that he’d thought to bring plenty of vegetables and grains. 

Jim took the opportunity of their meal to admire his lover, how he looked in the afternoon sunlight that managed to touch him through the leaves of the trees, how the wind danced with his long hair.  Jim gazed at his beautiful and hopefully soon-to-be husband.  The term made his heart beat faster in pleasure in satisfaction.  His suit had been accepted.  Now, he only waited to ask him in the human way.  After their meal, he would do it.  He watched as Sybok ate the Vulcan food with the same curiosity and exploration as McCoy, though Sybok progressed much slower, more deliberately, and seemed to analyze everything he ate carefully.  He watched in fascination as Sybok’s expressions shifted.  From where he sat beside him, Jim could only see just over half of his face, but it was enough to see the curiosity shift to pleasure or surprise, even dislike once or twice in some portions that Sybok would carefully push to the side while attempting to make it less than obvious that he did not enjoy that food’s taste. Finally, after half of their meal, Sybok spoke.  “These are not Terran dishes, are they?”

Jim smiled.  “No,” he replied, pausing to sip his wine.  “They’re Vulcan.”  He pursed his lips, then amended that statement. “At least most of them are Vulcan.”

“Ah, and did you prepare this yourself or did your staff do it?”

Jim suddenly grew nervous to admit he cooked for him.  Was it unpleasant?  Did Sybok eat it just because it was polite to do so?  No.  Sybok did not complain and he did not praise, he simply ate what he enjoyed and ignored that which he did not.  It was diplomatically done.  “I cooked it with Captain McCoy’s help.” 

Spock could not hide the blush then as he imagined the Prince and his Royal Guard working to prepare food over an open fire for him.  He would have enjoyed seeing it.  “Thank you,” he said. 

Jim loved that coloring on Sybok’s skin, his shy blush.  He could not fight the smile from showing on his face when he saw the light green grow darker as Sybok’s self-consciousness increased.  He didn’t want to fight it.  Finally the energy between them had lost its tension.  The comfortable ease between them had returned.  The time was right.  Trying to keep his hands from shaking as he set the remnants of his meal aside, Jim hoped he could keep his voice steady as he began to speak.  “Sybok,” he said, surprised that the rest of the words stuck in his throat.  He cleared his throat and decided not to care how he sounded when he said it anymore, just as long as the words were spoken.  “Tomorrow at the Masque, when it turns midnight, I would like to introduce you to my subjects as my chosen consort.”

Spock’s breath left him instantly and he turned to look directly at the Prince in shock.  “What?”

Jim opened his mouth to repeat the words but stopped short as he looked at the right side of his lover’s face.  A green discoloration marred the cheekbone and it had not been caused by blushing.  Then he realized at what precisely he looked.  It was a bruise.  Instantly, all thoughts of marriage left Jim and something else took over.  A fierce need to know why his lover had been injured.  “What happened?” he asked as he gently touched the bruise with his fingertip.

Spock had not realized his mistake until he saw the shift in Jim’s eyes, and by then it was too late.  He flinched when Jim touched the bruise and turned his face away from the Prince.  “I was careless, and—”

“Someone hit you.”  Jim stated it, not asked it.  That someone had struck his lover both angered and horrified him.  In a rush, he realized that this had to have occurred between sunrise this morning and the time that Sybok had come to meet him here.  Who would have done it?  His mind raced, thinking of anyone who may be staying with the Viscount Marcus that would dare strike a Vulcan Lord. 

Everything was falling apart.  Spock had no time to lament over his delay in simply telling the Prince the truth and fleeing while he had the chance.  He had seen the bruise and he questioned it just as Spock knew Jim would.  He also knew that Jim would not stand for having his questions unanswered, and Spock refused to lie to the man he loved any more.  “It was not something that I did not deserve for my actions.”

Jim barely understood.  What did that mean?  That Sybok believed he deserved to be struck by another?  “What could you possibly have done to justify someone hitting you hard enough to bruise you like that?” 

“Your Highness, please, don’t—” Spock couldn’t finish the sentence.  He began to panic.  He had to leave, and he had to leave now, before he said too much. 

Jim was horrified.  What had happened?  Did Sybok need a healer?  How did he not immediately notice Sybok’s injury?  For that he was ashamed of himself.  Jim reached out to cup Spock’s jaw so he could look at the bruise, to see if anything more serious than a bruise was wrong. 

Spock pulled away from his reach and stood quickly.  He turned towards the direction from which they’d arrived here.  Jim realized that Sybok intended to run from him.  He would not, could not, let him go again, not like this.  Jim scrambled to his feet and went after him this time, and just managed to grab Sybok’s arm firmly enough to pull him back around to face him, the Vulcan’s long hair streaming with the harsh movement.  “Tell me who hit you,” he demanded. 

Jim had never raised his voice in his presence before that moment, and it frightened Spock.  With his arm still held securely by the Prince, Spock physically shrank away from him, and from the authority and hard tone in his voice. As soon as Jim saw the terror in his lover’s eyes, he knew something he had done or said had triggered that fear in Sybok, and he instantly released him.  He watched helplessly as Sybok blindly fled from him until he leaned against a tree to keep himself standing.  Spock felt like he couldn’t breathe.  The Prince would know.  He would know everything if he didn’t leave, but Spock didn’t have the strength to flee.  Finally accepting his fate, Spock admitted to himself the futility of his hope of simply disappearing.  Reality would only end with his identity discovered and his death the only possible outcome for his deceptions.  He hung his head in exhaustion and defeat.

Jim didn’t know what to do or what to say.  He’d caused Sybok’s panic, but had no idea how to calm him down from it when he had been the reason for it.  So he remained standing there, rooted in place like the tree upon which Sybok leant for strength.  Spock swallowed the lump in his throat and closed his eyes, trying to find any shred of peace and mental calm from this moment.  He would not achieve it.  Yet, when the wind rose gently and he felt the warm air caress his skin, Spock began to feel the beginnings of calmness.  He sighed against the tree and tried to breathe evenly. 

The Prince watched as Sybok’s long hair flowed and danced in the wind, the only movement occurring in the silence and stillness between them.  He licked his lips anxiously, hoping Sybok would turn back to him, or at the least not shy from him when he could finally bring himself to end their silence and apologize for overstepping a line he did not know existed.  Jim hesitated for a moment before he went to Spock, the apology just finding his voice when he noticed another discoloration on his lover’s skin.  Had the wind not brushed aside Spock’s hair, the Prince never would have seen the faded bruise on the lower nape of the Vulcan’s neck.  “And this?” he asked in a whisper laced with dread.  A heavy weight settled in Jim’s stomach at the sight of the bruise there.

Spock felt ill.  Jim had obviously discovered QumwI’ Hegh’s bite mark on his neck, the very one he had managed to conceal from him for the last few days.  This was only another secret he’d kept from the Prince.  Another shame exposed.  “It is nothing,” he told Jim.  For after this afternoon, it would mean nothing to the Prince because Spock would never see him again. 

Jim refused to sigh in frustration.  He finished what the wind had started and gently swept Spock’s long hair away from the back of his neck to fully expose the faded bruise there.  As he draped Spock’s hair over his shoulder, Jim examined the back of his lover’s neck.  It was older than a day judging by the way it was faded in color.  Sybok had this mark yesterday, even before Jim had stripped them both to each other’s gaze, joined Sybok in bed, and made love to him.  Sybok had this mark on his neck from someone who had harmed him while the man who loved him hadn’t even noticed its existence.  How had he not seen it?  With increasing horror and anger, Jim realized that this mark had been caused by teeth.  Someone had bitten and thus marked the neck of the person Jim wished to wed.  “It’s not nothing,” Jim insisted.  Not wanting to cause pain, but hoping to bring some kind of comfort, Jim rested both of his hands on Spock’s shoulders where his shoulders joined his neck and traced the offensive mark gently with the pads of his thumbs as though desperate to erase its existence with his touch.  “Were you attacked?” he asked, though dreading the answer.

The heat from the Prince’s hands was intoxicating yet comforting, a heat in which Spock wished he could bask for the rest of his days.  Jim’s touch made him acquiescent.  Spock did not want to tell him the truth, but his unwillingness to lie to Jim anymore overruled the desire to conceal the truth.  Reluctantly, he confessed.  “Yes.”

Jim swallowed his anger and allowed his concern for Sybok to take precedence.  “Are they still a threat to you?”

With the exception of his family, his true family, no one had ever asked after his well-being, his safety because no one had ever cared enough.  And now, when someone other than his family finally did care enough about him to ask, there was only one simple truth remaining.  “It does not matter,” Spock said.  Because it didn’t matter anymore.  It wouldn’t matter after he left Jim today, because it would no longer be Jim’s concern.  Spock tried and knew he likely failed in internalizing a sob. 

“Sybok,” Jim sighed his lover’s name as he felt him shaking.  He came closer and pressed a gentle kiss to the horrible bite mark, trying to conceal the cruelty of it with tenderness.  “It matters to me.”  He kissed the mark again, then pulled away enough to brush Spock’s hair from over his shoulder to cascade down his back.  “Are you in any further danger?”

Spock had been the target of QumwI’ Hegh for years.  He knew it would not change, the leers would not change, and the threats would not change.  If the status quo remained constant, he knew his personal safety would not be at any increased jeopardy than its current state.  Yet, the unknown factor was whether or not Hegh would act on his threats one day and cross over the line that separated molester and rapist.  “I do not know,” he admitted.  It was the truth.  He could not predict Hegh or even the Viscount.  If he could, then his mother’s book would not have been destroyed, and he would not be in this situation now.  Many things would not have occurred that he could have prevented if he could predict the actions of others.

With gentle pressure from his hands, Jim urged Spock to turn to face him, stepping to the side to meet him halfway.  He disliked the misery clearly visible in Spock’s expression.  He knew his questioning had brought that unhappiness to the surface, but he also knew that his lover had likely buried it since being attacked.  As the Prince of Terra, it would be in his power to remove the threat to his lover, to protect him.  He wanted to do that.  But he needed to know the answer to a central question before he could take steps to keep his intended safe.  “Who was it?”

Spock looked up at Jim, seeking his eyes.  The kindness, the love, still shone for him in the Prince’s eyes, but joining that was a fierce promise of protection.  Spock wanted desperately to believe it, but he knew that it would disappear in the moment Jim learned Spock was nothing but a servant and unworthy of a prince’s protection or time.  It would solve nothing to name Hegh to Jim, for nothing would come of it.  “No one with whom to concern yourself, Your Highness.”

“Sybok, please,” Jim said as he reached to cradle Spock’s right cheek.  He ran his thumb over the green bruise there apologetically.  “Why are you protecting them?  They’re not worth protecting.”  He brought his body closer to Spock, then waited, testing him to see if he was uncomfortable with his closeness.  When Spock did not stiffen with tension, Jim closed the distance between them.  “Let me help.”  Jim tilted his lover’s face up to his and joined their lips gently, intending to keep his affections calm and measured, giving Sybok control of this moment between them.  

Spock softened under Jim’s nonaggressive passion.  He reached for the Prince, sliding his hands from the human’s waist up to clutch at his light riding jacket, conflicted between pushing him away and pulling him closer.  Spock parted his lips in their kiss, desperate to experience the Prince’s desire for him one last time.  Jim reciprocated and slid his tongue cautiously forward to meet that of his lover.  Spock moaned unrestrainedly as soon as their tongues touched, surrendering to the Prince and embracing his own affection for Jim in this moment before he had to leave him, before he lost this forever.

Then, Jim slid his hands around Spock’s body, and drew him against his chest.

Spock’s moan immediately transformed into a scream of pain, truly finding his voice when he tore his lips from the Prince’s as he pushed against Jim’s chest to escape the agony of his hands pressing onto his savaged back.  His eyes filled with tears as the pain in his body matched that in his heart, giving him no choice but to hide that pain from Jim’s worried gaze.  “Sybok, what’s wrong?” Jim asked, alarmed by Sybok’s cry.  “What did I do?”  As soon as he’d embraced him, Sybok fought against him, but until that moment he had been the lover he knew last night.  Spock planted his hands on Jim’s chest and held him away from him, preventing him from being able to embrace him again.  “Please,” Jim begged, loosely holding Spock by his upper arms. “Tell me what’s wrong.” 

Spock forced himself to look at Jim, prepared to tell him precisely that.  But as soon as he saw the love in Jim’s eyes, Spock choked on his words and the only sound his heartbreak permitted him was an aborted sob.  He would rather disappear, vanish forever from the Prince’s life, than tell him the truth like this and watch as the overwhelming love Jim held for him twisted into hatred.  Spock could not bear Jim thinking that he had used the Prince, seduced him like some sick game, that Spock had done all of this to deceive him, to make him a fool, to humiliate him.  Spock loved Jim too much to let him believe that the last few days had been nothing but lies.  Spock’s entire identity may have been a lie, but his feelings, his emotions, and their love for one another were not lies.  He knew that Jim would have difficulty in separating the two if Spock were to tell him the truth.  Selfishly, Spock wanted to remember the love in Jim’s eyes and smile, and he wanted Jim to remember the love Spock had for him in return.  He had to disappear, to leave Jim now, and never look back.  Finally, he answered the Prince.  “Everything.”

Spock freed himself from Jim’s loose hold and ran from him.  Jim stood in shock for only an instant before he followed, stumbling over the tree roots in his haste.  “Sybok!  Wait!”  Spock heard Jim calling for him, but he could not stop.  If he stopped, he would never again leave.  He would not have the strength.  He ignored the Prince’s words and hurriedly reached the edge of the trees, barely seeing the surprise and concern on Captain McCoy’s face. 

“Hikaru!” Spock called.  Sulu seemed to materialize at his side.  “Help.”  It was all he needed to say.  Sulu assisted him in mounting his horse in seconds, and Spock desperately clutched the reins and hunched forward over his mare to avoid falling from her back.  His back throbbed in agony, and he suspected he was bleeding again as he moved too quickly to escape. 

“Please!” Jim shouted as he neared the edge of the trees.  “Sybok, don’t go!  What did I do?  Tell me what I did wrong, please!  Sybok!”

Spock pushed the Prince’s voice from his head and kicked his horse into a sprint.  He had to flee and he had to leave now.  Even without telling the Prince the truth, he’d still managed to break both of their hearts.  As Jim’s voice grew dimmer and farther away, Spock finally allowed his tears to fall. 

Jim pointed at Sybok’s servant as he caught McCoy’s attention.  “Stop him!”  But Sulu had already mounted his horse, and McCoy was too far away either to pull him from the horse or to grab the reins.  Sulu urged his horse into the same quick departure that Spock had urged his mount.  McCoy huffed in frustration as he failed to stop Sulu.  The apology was on his tongue as he turned to Jim, but then he noticed the confusion and devastation in his charge’s entire body and he did not give voice to that apology. 

Jim watched Sybok flee from him until he could not see him anymore.  Only then did he truly feel his lover’s loss.  What had he done?  Why had he run?  Should he pursue Sybok or let him be until the masque?  He looked back to the road and to the fleeing horses the bore his lover away from him.  After whatever offense he’d given Sybok, Jim wondered if he would see him at the masque at all.  In that moment, Jim had no idea.  He heard McCoy say his name, but his voice sounded as distant from him as Sybok’s fleeing horse.  In his confusion and helplessness, Jim blurted, “Why did he run?”

McCoy sighed quietly as he came to stand at Jim’s side.  “Maybe we don’t know the whole story, Jim.” 

Jim barely heard McCoy due to his own frantic questions racing through his mind.  “How can I help him if he won’t tell me what’s wrong?”

McCoy bit his lip as he thought on his answer.  He knew the Prince wouldn’t like what he had to say.  “You have no choice but to wait.  He has to decide to trust you enough to be sure you’d likely give him the help he needs.”  As soon as he’d started talking, Jim glared at him.  He refused to back down or to let his young charge interrupt him, royalty or not.  The Prince needed to hear it. “The hard part is waiting for him to make that decision and then for him to ask for your help.”

Jim swallowed the lump in his throat and worked his stiff jaw so that he could speak.  “I don’t have time to wait anymore, McCoy.”  He hung his head miserably.  “I ran out of time.”

McCoy disliked seeing Jim, his friend, miserable like that.  “But if you did have the time—”

Jim stopped him before the useless hypothetical could go too far.  “I’d wait as long as he needed me to.  As long as it took for him to trust me – however long that meant.”  He sighed when he realized that he’d ended up finishing the hypothetical situation that McCoy had started.  The fact remained that he no longer had the luxury of time to wait for Sybok.  But there existed another fact that kept Jim desperately clinging to hope.  “I love him, Bones.”

McCoy shook his head sympathetically.  “That might not be enough.  Love doesn’t always magically solve everything.” 

Jim nodded.  “I know.” 

McCoy didn’t know if he was about to make Jim’s misery worse or better.  “But what I do know, Jim, is that that Vulcan loves you.”

Jim looked up again at the road on which Sybok had fled from him.  Would he have to name another as his spouse as midnight arrived on the night of the masque?  If so, who would he possibly choose?  He wanted Sybok, and he knew he loved him, but did Sybok want him equally as much?  Had Jim frightened him away forever?  His thoughts went to last night in the tent.  Had that been a mistake?  Had making love to Sybok pushed him too far too soon?  He didn’t think so.  Jim had repeatedly asked for Sybok’s consent, to be certain the Vulcan wanted to proceed.  Sybok had consented and Jim had taken that consent with each request for it and made sure not to abuse it.  No, he had not pushed Sybok too far.  He had wanted Jim last night.  Of that he could be absolutely sure.  Sybok had loved Jim in that tent as fiercely and tenderly as Jim had worshipped his Vulcan’s trembling body.  Each kiss between them – Human or Vulcan in practice – had been met with equal passion.  Sybok had met each of Jim’s thrusts once their joining passed the clumsy exploration of new lovers coming together.  Sybok had held Jim against his body as they rode peaks and slopes of their lovemaking, as they breathlessly gasped the other’s name, and silenced each other’s strangled moans with their lips to keep their pleasures from being heard throughout the camp.  Jim agreed with McCoy.  Sybok loved him. 

Yet he still ran from him. 

“There’s something we don’t know about his situation, though,” McCoy pondered aloud.  “Whatever that mystery is, it’s the key to everything that just happened.”

Jim turned to his Captain of the Guard, his determination for answers only just masking the grief in his eyes.  “I need to consult my mother.  Escort me home,” he ordered.  “Once you see me safely to the Queen, you are dismissed to find out the answer to this mystery.  I will not give up on this until the last stroke of midnight.”

McCoy watched Jim stalk back to the picnic they’d painstakingly prepared and begin to gather everything up so that they could return to the palace.  He noted that the Prince used more care when packing away the gespar bread and favinit butter dishes.  McCoy wondered if Jim had managed to complete the Vulcan ritual with S’haile Sybok before he made his hasty retreat, but he would not ask Jim that question.  The Prince was already upset, confused, and devastated enough.  Either answer to a question like that would only add to those feelings.  Wordlessly, he joined Jim and helped him pack.

A distance away from Jim and McCoy, Spock finally slowed his mare to a slow trot and finally to a slow walk.  He waited for Hikaru to catch up.   His friend reached him only moments later.  “Are you okay?” he asked. 

Spock shook his head miserably.  “I could not tell him the truth.”  He swallowed hard, desperate to regain any sort of emotional control by the time they reached the manor. 

Hikaru understood.  “You have one more chance left,” he reminded Spock, not knowing if it would help or make his friend’s misery worse.  “The masque.  Tell him at the masque tomorrow.” 

When Spock choked on a sob he refused to give voice, Hikaru knew he’d made Spock’s unhappiness worse. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

The shouting woke Carol up and she sprang out of her bed to see why her father and sister were screaming so loudly.  She’d only just started down the stairs when she had her answer.  “How dare you turn your dead brother into a lord?”  Spock.  Something was going on with Spock.  She hurried down the stairs and stopped short at the sight before her. 

Spock’s typical straight-backed posture had slumped in defeat, his expression closed off and his eyes empty.  “What is it that disturbs you most, Viscount?  That I am Vulcan, that I am a servant, that I am a male, or that your daughter is having difficulty in competing with that?”

Viscount Marcus grabbed the clothes draped over Spock’s arm and pulled them hard, jarring Spock off balance to give the Human the split second he needed to swipe and land a hard blow to Spock’s face.  “And you paraded around in my clothing for the Prince, did you?  Just to make the illusion stick in his mind that you couldn’t possibly be the worthless cur that you are!”  He towered over Spock as her step-brother weakly tried to stand tall.  Viscount Marcus did not allow him to straighten.  “Your brother may have been a lord for the brief life he had, but you are nothing, Spock!  You deserved nothing from me all these years and I gave you a home and food and clothes.  And this is how you repay me?”  He struck Spock again, sending him lower and giving himself the space to stand further over him.  “You masquerade as a nobleman you can never be, and try to seduce Prince James, who could never wish to marry a half-breed whore like you.”

Spock’s heart shattered at these words.  Jim did wish to wed him.  He knew that the moment the prince explained the Vulcan ritual this afternoon.  He had not cared that he was different.  _“You don’t alarm me, or shock me.” Jim smiled down at him.  “That doesn’t matter.”  He brought Spock’s hands to the fastenings of his trousers in a silent request to undress him.  “I definitely still want you.”_ Spock aborted a sob for all that he’d given up with Jim.  He could have risked exposing his true identity and hoping Jim loved him enough to still want him.  Instead, he’d chosen to come home to this.  Spock had never regretted a decision more than this one.  He didn’t even think of the consequences of his words before he said, “You and Janice are the ones attempting to seduce the Prince.  Such a dishonorable aim would never be mine, but it is yours.  Perhaps it is your daughter that is the whore here.”

Viscount Marcus closed his fist around a handful of Spock’s hair and pulled harshly, eliciting a hiss of pain from his prey.  “You will apologize immediately.”

Carol watched as Spock’s stoicism vanished and anger took its place.  She hoped it would not be his undoing.  “I will not apologize to her.  She does not deserve that courtesy.” 

“And you will no longer receive any from me,” Viscount Marcus promised.  He bent enough to bring his face close to Spock’s.  “So let me speak plainly.  You will tell me where your mother’s dress is or you will suffer any punishment I decide is justified.” 

Spock did not understand.  His mother’s dress was missing?

Carol stiffened where she stood on the stairs.  How could she have been so stupid?  Of course her father would blame Spock for what she’d done.  She’d only taken everything to Sulu to protect them, to keep them safe.  Yet, her brother would now take that blame and the punishment for Carol’s good intentions. 

“I do not know to what are referring.”  He truly did not understand. 

“The wedding gown, half-breed,” Janice growled from where she stood leaning on the doorjamb, fury radiating from her.  “The shoes, the medallion.  They were in my room this morning before we left for the palace and now they’re gone!  You hid them!”

Viscount Marcus yanked on Spock’s hair to emphasize his voice.  “Where did you put the gown, Spock?”

The screaming had drawn the attention of Christopher Pike, Natasha, and Pavel.  They lingered in the neighboring doorway all bearing identical saddened and terrified expressions.  In that moment, when he saw them, Spock had lost all sense of self-preservation.  After breaking Jim’s heart and his own in one encounter, he questioned what else he could possibly stand to lose.  His mother’s memory slowly had been destroyed piece by piece from this house, and his father’s had barely lingered since Lady Amanda had married Viscount Marcus.  He cared for Pike and his family, but they had encouraged him to take these steps.  Perhaps, they would be better without him.  He would keep the Viscount’s wrath targeted on himself to spare them any further punishment, and he would do so gladly.  Spock concluded that he had very little left to lose.  The image of his mother’s beloved ka’athyra came to his mind.  It had been missing from its case in the library for several days.  His anger made him shake.  “Where is my mother’s lyre, and my father’s lirpa, and their mutual possessions?  Where have you hidden them?  Perhaps you will find what you seek when you uncover those missing items!”

He tightened his grip in Spock’s hair.  “You produce the whereabouts of that gown, or—”

“I will not permit that which was worn in love to be used as a means to seduce your way into power!  I would rather die thousands of times than to see my mother’s bonding robes defiled by your selfish, spoiled, cruel daughter!”

Carol covered her mouth with her hands in shock. She had never believed Spock capable of such an outburst, yet she also did not blame him for it.  Not after everything that had happened in the last day.  Her stepbrother had been strong for so many years that she thought he would always endure.  Her heart lurched as she realized that her father and her sister had finally found a way to break Spock’s spirit. 

Viscount Marcus’s expression became that of a deadly calm as Spock stopped shouting.  Then, a cruel smile twisted his features.  “I think we can have that arranged, Spock.”  He moved quickly, pulling on Spock’s long hair and giving the Vulcan no choice but to stumble after him.  Janice followed gleefully, her smile cruel and vindictive. 

Carol scurried after them only to stop when she saw her father open the locked door to the root cellar and forcibly push Spock inside.  “I think this cage will do nicely for you.  You can try to eat some of the food in there, but it will not be replaced if you do so.”  He slammed the door shut and locked it securely.  “And this door will never open again.  This is your prison and your grave, half-breed.”

“Father,” Carol called to get his attention.  “Is this necessary?  It’s only a ball.”

The Viscount walked furiously to his younger daughter.  “Only a ball?  Tomorrow night is the most important night of your sister’s life.  If you think I won’t do anything to make her dreams come true, then you must be less intelligent than I’d always believed.”  He pointed behind him to the door behind which he’d imprisoned her stepbrother.  “I will not let that half-bred whore, or anything else, jeopardize my daughter’s happiness.”  He softened then, recognizing that Carol, while simple and slow to understand, had actually done nothing wrong.  “I need you to help Janice prepare for her marriage.  And for that, I need you to gather everything in this despicable house that can fetch any kind of price.  We need to sell it tomorrow morning and purchase a new dress for your sister.  I will not have her look anything less than a princess at the masque.” 

She had no other choice.  “Yes, Father.”

Viscount Marcus smiled tightly at her and then left her standing there in the corridor near the root cellar.  Janice smiled victoriously at Carol before following their father up the stairs.  She heard her father address their three other servants.  “Open this door to no one, not even the King, Queen, or the Prince themselves.  Disobey and you will never set foot on this property again – whether by being sold or killed.”

Carol could not believe the words her father just said.  She shook her head sadly.  How could this have happened?  How did she not see her family’s cruelty before? She looked to the small, barred opening to the door of the root cellar.  Spock gazed back at her, not asking for help, or mercy.  He just looked at her with a heavy sadness.  She did not know what to do.  She could not dare help him.  But it was her fault that he had been forced in that tiny room.  She had taken all of Lord Sarek and Lady Amanda’s possessions and hidden them away, not Spock.  It should be her taking that punishment, not Spock.  She wiped away her tears so she could look at her captive stepbrother.  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. 

Spock said nothing, but his eyes lowered sadly.  In another moment, he disappeared into the darkness of the windowless room. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

 “Where will you start?” Jim asked as they walked towards the main doors of the Palace. 

“Well,” McCoy replied, “I was thinking of paying a small visit to the Marcus Estate with the excuse of calling on Lady Carol.”

Despite his own heartbreak, the Prince managed to smile for his friend.  “You like her, don’t you?”  He had his answer when McCoy smiled at the question but refused to answer it.  He was about to press McCoy to talk about her, when a young guard called for him from behind. 

“The Queen demands you attend her in the Royal Gardens at once, Your Highness.”

Jim thought that odd, yet convenient.  At least he did not have to search for his mother.  He looked to McCoy, who fell into step beside him as they made their way to the Queen’s preferred spot in the Royal Gardens.  She had her back to them as they arrived.  “Your Majesty,” Jim acknowledged his mother formally, bowing his head respectfully.  He had no idea if she had summoned him as his mother or his ruler, so he opted to play cautious. 

Winona turned to face her younger son and studied him.  This morning he had been radiating joy, but now there was a change.  That light had dimmed.  She hoped it had not been caused by what she had discovered this afternoon. 

McCoy knew that this discussion was inappropriate for him to hear.  He looked to the Queen, bowed, and turned to Jim.  “If you have no further need of me, Your Highness—”

“Stay, Captain,” the Queen demanded, keeping her eyes on her son.  “I’m certain you would have learned the details of this discussion from my son soon enough anyway.”

McCoy acknowledged the command and took his place several paces away and stood at attention.  He would guard mother and son but he would also listen to what they said to one another.  The Queen had asked him to stay after all. 

Winona sipped her wine as she decided where to begin this conversation.  She had not left the gardens since meeting with Viscount Marcus and Lady Janice.  Their parting conversation had given her much to ruminate.  She determined that opening the discussion to her son may be the best approach.  “The masque is tomorrow,” she stated, hinting to Jim where this conversation headed.  “I admit to being curious on your proposed side of the compromise.  Have you found a suitable choice for yourself?”

A heavy weight settled in Jim’s stomach.  He had found a perfect match for himself, unexpected as it had been.  Then, everything seemed to have fallen apart this afternoon.  He didn’t know if Sybok would come to the masque, but he knew he still loved him.  And there was only one way to answer the question.  He had made his choice, but he didn’t know if that would truly come to be reality.  “S’haile Sybok, if he’ll have me.”

Winona had hoped for any name but that one.  She lowered her gaze to stare into the dark wine in her glass.  How could she possibly explain this situation?  It could never be. 

Jim saw his mother’s face hint at her displeasure, and he assumed it stemmed from his chosen one being a male.  “I don’t care if you approve or not, Mother, but I—”

“It’s impossible, sweetheart.”

  He needed to convince her that the solution he and Sam had concocted would work, and be acceptable.  “No, you don’t understand.”  He stepped towards her, prepared to plead his case.  “I already have an answer to the issue of providing future heirs for me, so I can still marry Sybok even though—”

“He is betrothed!”

Those three words stole Jim’s voice from him.  Surely he’d heard wrong.  “What?”

Winona sighed and forced herself to look at her son.  “He is betrothed,” she repeated.  “He leaves to marry his intended in the morning.” 

Jim didn’t understand.  He couldn’t make sense of the words.  He knew what they meant, what they implied, but none of them made sense.  “Betrothed.  That doesn’t—he can’t be.  He would have mentioned something like that to me.”  Sybok would not have responded to him the way he had if he had been sworn to another.  He would not have kissed him, gone with him alone yesterday.  He would not have allowed Jim to make love to him last night had he been betrothed.  Sybok trusted his inexperience and his untouched body to Jim’s care and affections.  Vulcans were an honorable race.  Surely giving one’s self to another while engaged would not be considered honorable.  It did not make sense that Sybok be betrothed.  Suddenly, a darker thought came to Jim.  “Who told you?”

“Viscount Marcus informed me, though he seemed rather reluctant to discuss it.”

Jim turned away from his mother.  The Viscount told her of Sybok’s betrothal?  There was motive there.  He knew the Viscount had been practically gift-wrapping his daughter for him.  Lady Janice held appeal, physically certainly, but Jim knew nearly nothing about her.  He knew S’haile Sybok, and was drawn to him in every way he could desire with a spouse.  Lady Janice may hide thigs from him, but Sybok did not.  “Sybok would have told me that he was engaged.  He _should_ have told me!”

Winona saw her son’s tension and frustration.  In that respect, Jim took after his father.  But he was more her son than George’s son, and she knew how she would have reacted in his situation.  “Even had he told you, would that have stopped you from pursuing him?”

“Of course not!” he shouted as he whirled to face her again.  “I still would have—” He couldn’t even finish the sentence.  The outcome would have been the same.  He still would be here angry and hurt that Sybok had fled from him.  He looked down at his boots, hoping to hide his increasing heartbreak from his mother. 

Winona smiled at her son knowingly.  “Those in love never seem capable of seeing reason,” she said.  She thought of her own youth before she’d ended up walking down the aisle to marry Prince George Kirk of Terra.  To see her son’s heart breaking before her eyes reminded her of her own similar experiences of the heart.  “Love makes us do silly, embarrassing, and sometimes insane things that we would never otherwise do.  It makes you blind to what’s around you, sweetheart.”

Jim’s mind raced as he thought of the last few days, of all the things to which he didn’t pay attention.  Only this morning, Sybok had flinched away from his touch.  When he brought Sybok home at dawn, his lover had protested coming too close to the house and convinced Jim to let him walk from the gate.  When he’d asked Sybok to see him this afternoon, Sybok had confessed that he could possibly face difficulty in getting away to meet him.  Upon his arrival in the woods, Sybok immediately announced that he could not stay long.  His behavior had been closed off from Jim.  And when Jim had kissed him, Sybok had stiffened and pulled away until his abrupt departure.  The signs had all been there and Jim had failed to see them.  “How could I have missed it?” he thought aloud.  He let himself fall into the chair closest to him, uncertain if he had the strength to stand while enduring these revelations.  “He was trying to tell me the whole time.”

“Sweetheart,” Winona began to comfort him, but Jim continued to think aloud.

“There I was telling him I’m in love with him and trying to ask him to marry me and he was just—”  He struggled on the words that he didn’t believe were real.  “—trying to say goodbye.”  He let his head hang forward, unwilling to let his mother see the tears that had blurred his vision. 

Winona went to her son.  She reached out and coaxed his head up to look at her.  Seeing the tears in her child’s eyes pained her more than she expected in that moment.  “It is a strong person who can keep his wits about him, while a prince like you tries to steal his heart.”

Jim thought of last night, the way Sybok’s body felt against him, the way the Vulcan trembled beneath him.  He could still feel his body wrapped around his own.  He thought of the way Sybok accepted, welcomed, Jim’s touch, his body, his kisses.  Sybok had reciprocated everything Jim offered.  The sounds he made during their passion would forever be in Jim’s memory, along with the way Sybok scrambled for purchase on Jim’s back when they approached their peak and their rhythm lost its even pace.  He could still feel Sybok’s fingers scrape along his back, remembered how Sybok pushed into him as his spine arched as sensation and emotion overwhelmed the Vulcan and sent him into ecstasy.  Even after Sybok lay spent beneath him, he had tiredly held onto Jim as the prince rode him firmly and ardently to his own climax only to catch him as Jim collapsed in bliss.  They’d pressed kisses everywhere they could reach in their breathless exhaustion and let their hands lazily explore where their lips could not touch.   

Why would Sybok consent to all of that when he remained betrothed?  The answer could not be any simpler to Jim.  Sybok consented to everything between them because Sybok loved Jim.  His heartbreak doubled as he acknowledged Sybok’s feelings for him.  He closed his eyes briefly against that agony, then looked up at his mother.  “I did steal his heart, Mom.  And he still left me.” 

Winona wrapped her arms around her son for the first time since he’d been a small child.  She felt Jim’s arms come up around her.  They were no longer a queen or a prince in that moment, but simply a mother and son.  “Perhaps he did not have a choice except to leave.”

Jim wondered if Sybok’s engagement had been arranged, if he were trapped and chained to his duty in honoring it.  Vulcans, after all, were typically betrothed at a young age.  How had he forgotten that?   Smothering a sob, he knew why he so easily forgot that.  Sybok had defied everything he knew about Vulcans.  Sybok didn’t even know his own culture’s method of kissing until Jim had taught him.  Because of this, he’d assumed that Sybok had no attachments.  And for that careless assumption, Jim had ensured his own heartbreak.  Then, there were the marks he’d discovered on his lover.  The bruise on his cheek and the bite to the back of his neck.  Had Sybok received them from his fiancé? Jim suspected that to be the case.  He would never strike Sybok, would never mark him like that, would never intentionally hurt him.  He was jealous of this nameless, faceless person that could one day soon wed Sybok.  Anyone who hurt Sybok would never be worthy of him.  And because Sybok had already been sworn to another, Jim could never honor and love Sybok in the way he deserved. 

“But tomorrow,” Winona said, trying to bring her son’s mind back to reality. “You will choose a spouse and name that person by midnight or your father will announce your wedding to T’sai T’Pring.” 

Jim vowed to himself that he would not wed a Vulcan unless it was Sybok.  He would have to choose another, any other, and live in that self-made purgatory.  “I’ve been going after the unattainable this whole time,” he said, ignoring his mother’s pained expressions.  “At this late hour, I suppose I could be open to suggestions if you have any.”

Winona tried to smile encouragingly, stroking Jim’s hair lovingly as she began to speak.  “This afternoon, I had the pleasure of having lunch with a young lady I believe would acceptably suit your tastes.”

McCoy watched as Jim poured himself a glass of wine as the Queen began to speak of Lady Janice. He knew Jim barely listened and humored his mother to try to distract them both from the revelation of Sybok’s secret engagement. Jim’s thought were with that Vulcan, and would from this day forth forever be out of his reach. He didn’t envy Jim’s situation, but he was prepared to support his prince and his friend in whatever decision he made for his future, whether that meant a Vulcan or Human spouse-to-be. All he hoped for was Jim’s happiness in that choice. But with the news of Sybok’s engagement, McCoy had no reason to visit the Marcus Estate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. ~ RK


	12. The Masque

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wait was long, and I hope some of you out there are still interested in this fic. If so, thank you for your patience, and enjoy this chapter. ~ RK

He dusted himself off and then gathered the tools he would need today for all of his gardening tasks.  His work began and ended with the daylight.  The only exception was evenings on which his master would host a festive party outside in the gardens.  Yet, with the illness, those occasions were few and far between anymore.  In a way, Sulu missed those nights, when he could show off his hard work for his master, but he understood that they may never come again.  He also knew that the old man enjoyed gazing at the gardens from the many windows of the house. 

Hikaru jumped when he opened the door to leave his supply building and found an exhausted Pavel Chekov standing on the threshold, his fist raised to pound on the door.  He knew from the dread in the boy’s eyes that something terrible had happened.  He suspected only one thing.  “What happened to Spock?” he asked.

Pavel told him as quickly as he could, sometimes only able to get the words out through a clenched jaw. “He’s seen you, though!  The Viscount won’t know what your business is at the palace!”  Hikaru already began shaking his head in refusal.  “You have to go to the Prince.  Tell him what happened!”

Hikaru threw his hands in the air.  “He doesn’t know the truth about Spock, Pavel!” he shouted.  “Telling the prince won’t even help.  Besides, he’d never—I’d never be able to get close enough to tell him!  He’d never see someone like me!”

Pavel eyes swam with angry, desperate tears.  His body shook in rage.  “Then I’ll go myself!” he decided.  “Because I care about Spock.”  He quickly swiped away his tears.  “I thought you were his friend, Hikaru, his best friend.  I guess I was wrong!” With that, Pavel turned headed back to the manor.

Hikaru watched the boy go for several paces, feeling more and more like a coward with every step Pavel took. _If I were in his position, you would be taking my actions._ Spock had said those words to him just before he left to retrieve Christopher Pike and bring him home.  It seemed like a lifetime ago.  He lowered his head and sighed.  Spock had been right.  Even though he had denied it at the time of their discussion, Hikaru knew that Spock had been correct.  He looked back to the house, wondering how Spock found the courage to step outside of his family’s manor each time he met the Prince.  What if he ended up imprisoned by the royal guards? 

He looked back to Pavel, seeing that the boy had already climbed the fence that separated the two properties.  Pavel was right.  Spock had been Hikaru’s best friend since even before they were Pavel’s age.  His best friend needed his help.  “Pavel, wait!” He hurried to catch up to Pavel, abandoning his supplies in the doorway.

If it all ended with Hikaru thrown in a dungeon for trying to help his oldest and closest friend, then Hikaru could live with that.  Someone like Spock, his friend, his family, was worth the risk.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

“I will not have you be the reason why we’re late!” her father’s voice bellowed up the stairs. She’d spent the last several hours helping Janice get ready for the Masque, her sister fussing and complaining that her hair wasn’t just right, or that her makeup needed to be completely redone so many times that Carol had less than half an hour to get ready herself.

“I am coming, Father!” she shouted, hurriedly getting her hooded mask settled in a good enough fashion. With one last look at herself in the mirror, Carol left her chamber and descended the stairs to find her father and sister fussing yet again over her ensemble.

“When we return tonight, my darling,” Viscount Marcus whispered conspiringly to his elder daughter, “you will be engaged to our Prince.”

Janice squealed in delight and grasped her father’s hands so she wouldn’t jump in excitement. Her blue and white gown shimmered as she moved, the sewn-in gems catching the light. The mask she wore could barely be considered a mask, for it left most of her features uncovered. It only covered her forehead, following the path of her eyebrows in an elegant display of gold with inlaid silver filigree and gemstones to bring attention to her face from her gown before the headpiece burst with the colorful green and blue feathers of a peacock.

The Viscount, on the other hand, wore an aggressive and authoritative crimson ensemble. The robes were long, but did not drag, and elaborately decorated with golden appliqué trimmings. He, too, did not put much effort into hiding his face. But resting on the top of his head were two large, lightweight, and impressive-looking horns.

Carol wondered if they deliberately chose to reveal their inner natures with their costume choices or if they were completely ignorant to the image her sister and father made by blatantly displaying their greed and vanity.

She looked over to the window in the door to the root cellar, but the room was dark and her stepbrother did not gaze out to watch them leave. Nothing about her family’s conduct sat well with her. It knotted her insides sickeningly and, helplessly, she knew she could do nothing to rectify this situation. Spock did not deserve what had happened in her opinion. But she could do nothing.

“Come along, Carol!” her father shouted from outside. “Or I’ll have you pull our carriage as well.” Her father and Janice burst into laughter.

Carol did not think it funny. She pulled her mask lower so that her eyes would be in shadow to hide her misery and the sting of her tears caused by her family’s hurtful words. Her father had presented her with the costume of a horse. A beast of burden. As she looked at the horses waited to be whipped into motion, Carol wondered if that was how her father had always seen her.

A burden, unworthy of his affectionate attention, but a means to an end. That end being making Janice a royal bride. Carol got into the carriage and stared out the window the entire ride to the palace, both hoping and yet dreading to see Captain McCoy. After all, who would want to dance with a horse?

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

They had traveled on foot and decided it would be best to avoid all of the roads to avoid being seen by everyone on their way to the palace. Hours had passed, but Hikaru Sulu and Pavel Chekov finally reached their destination.

They only faced one problem. What to do next?

For at least one hour they had studied the gates, trying to spot a way in which they could sneak in when a carriage pulled up for admittance. Eventually, they determined that they couldn’t possibly enter the grounds that way. Not without being caught anyways. There was nothing they could do except try to sneak through the perimeter of the royal grounds in a much more traditional way. They decided to try to climb the walls of the Royal Gardens.

They’d scaled the wall’s bricks as closely as moss growing on it until they were far enough away from the excitement at the main gates to attempt the risk of going over it. Sulu let Pavel climb up onto his shoulders and scramble up onto the top of the wall. The boy didn’t dare stand and draw attention to them, so he lay on the cold stone surface of the wall and offered his hand to help give Sulu the purchase he needed to get himself up and over the wall with him. He didn’t stop at the top of the wall, but swung his legs around to jump down quickly into the Gardens. A moment later, he held out his arms to his young companion and caught him as Pavel jumped down after him.

However, almost as soon as they turned around, someone shouted, “Stop in the name of the King!”

“Oh, no,” Sulu groaned, looking for an escape.

“Go!” hissed Pavel, who immediately took off running to the right, back towards the main gates, hoping he would see a member of the Royal Household or Staff that he recognized and could entreat for help.

Sulu raced after him, hearing the Palace Guards shouting for them to stop. They were faster than he and Pavel, having much more familiarity with their environment than the two servants who’d hopped the wall. He heard a shout up ahead. Pavel. Sulu ran faster and he saw Pavel trying to free himself from the grip a guard had on his arm. One of them had to make it, one of them had to find the help they sought in coming here. They both couldn’t be captured. Sulu made the decision instantly. He threw himself at the guard’s chest with as much strength as he could, hoping his effort would be what Pavel needed to get free. Sulu glanced over as he and the guard tumbled to the ground. He’d succeeded. “Go, Pav!” he shouted.

Pavel didn’t hesitate, but he turned and darted away before the other guards that had given chase to Sulu caught up to the scuffle going on. Sulu swung his fists blindly, trying to stall as much as possible and give the guards as much distraction as he could so that Pavel had more time to get away. He had no idea how long he struggled, but by the time his wrists were secured in cuffs and the guards were bodily hauling him out of the Palace Gardens, he grinned to himself. Hopefully, Pavel had enough time and managed to find someone that could help Spock.

Meanwhile, Pavel had ran as fast as he could from the Gardens and into the crowded entranceway and courtyard where the nobility had all begun socializing with each other from the moment the doors of their carriages opened. He kept watch for the Viscount’s carriage, knowing he would have to hide himself from his and Janice’s view. He looked around at all of the Palace Staff and Guards that were either stationed on the courtyard’s perimeter or weaving through the crowd assisting those who summoned them. He didn’t recognize anyone. The entire Royal Family was notably absent from the courtyard. He’d hoped to catch a glimpse of the Prince and alert him to the trouble Spock found himself in, but the Prince must still be within the Palace itself with the King and Queen. Pavel searched then for the next person he had seen with the Prince, his Guard. The frowning, seemingly unhappy, man usually kept to the Prince’s side. If the Prince was not here, then his Guard wouldn’t be here either.

That left one other person.

“Boy,” a Guard said, as he grabbed hold of Pavel’s arm tightly. “What’re you doing?”

His mind raced and he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I’m lost.”

“Lost?” the Guard asked doubtfully. “And I’m the King himself. The truth!” he demanded, with a hard shake of Pavel’s arm.

“I’m—” He didn’t think his real reason would be enough. “I’m—” He saw the very person among the crowd he sought. He stepped toward him, but the Guard’s grip yanked him back like a dog on a leash. Pavel decided to lie. “I was looking for my master!”

“Your master? Come on, boy,” the Guard said, starting to walk and force Pavel along with him. “To the dungeons with you for now.”

“No, no!” Pavel shouted. He hoped his shouting would get the attention of the person to whom he needed to speak. “Wait, I’m an apprentice! I was sent to town by my master!”

“Then why are you coming back empty-handed?” the Guard asked.

“Oiy! What’re ye doin’?” a distinctly accented voice shouted. Pavel looked up and his heart pounded in his chest when he saw his rescuer. “Ye let tha’ boy down now!”

The Guard tightened his hold. “He says he’s your apprentice.”

“Aye, that’s right. Now, would ye let him go now?” the man demanded, crossing his arms in displeasure.

“What did you send him to town for?” the Guard asked.

Pavel looked at the older man, silently begging him to come up with someone, anything. Montgomery Scott pursed his lips as he glanced at Pavel, then opened them slowly as the words awkwardly came forth. “Doesn’t matter much, does it, since he hasn’t got anythin’, right? Useless, apprentices. If ye want somethin’ done, ye have to get it yerself.” The Guard chuckled and his grip loosened, but not enough for Pavel to escape. “Now, let the boy go so I can yell at him properly.”

Pavel played his part well as the Guard released his arm and he looked guiltily at Mister Scott. “I’m sorry, master,” he said in the tiniest, most apologetic voice he could muster. “They were closed when I got there.”

Mister Scott pointedly looked at the Guard. “Ah, well, I should’ve thought of that bein’ this thing is goin’ on today.” Not waiting for the Guard’s response, Mister Scott flung an arm around Pavel’s shoulders and quickly steered him away from both the Guard and the majority of the nobility mingling about. After he’d led them to an area just behind a large piece of decoration that served as a background to an hors d’oeuvre display, Scott faced Pavel. “Now,” he said, “what made ye risk yer life to sneak into the palace?”

Pavel took a deep breath. “Someone who needs your help.”

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

“—the first dance!” Jim’s forced jovial mood finally cracked in that moment. He was expected to take a partner for the first dance to truly begin the Masque from which he desperately wished he could excuse himself. Everything had fallen apart. For nearly a week he had spent his time wooing Sybok, a Vulcan so unavailable to him that Jim had never even thought that his desired intended’s reluctance was anything other than shyness. It had all been for nothing. He hadn’t made any progress from his situation. He still needed to name his chosen spouse tonight. Only yesterday he’d known precisely which name he’d chosen, but now he found himself right back where he started facing the reality that he would have to marry someone about whom he knew nothing and for whom he felt nothing.

Numbly, he descended the short steps of the Royal Dais to seek a partner for the first dance. How could he possibly choose a partner for this formality when his mind wrestled with much more important things? He couldn’t even decide on a spouse. What did the first dance matter? Should his partner not also be the very person he intended to wed? What kind of message would it send to his future subjects if he chose someone for this dance other than his soon-to-be-announced fiancée? It would be a great insult to that person, wouldn’t it?

He lifted his gaze and looked about at the eager and expectant and hopeful faces gathered in the extravagantly decorated and monstrous courtyard. He looked for a friendly face but could find none. Then, in the far rear of the enclosure stood a small group of people with whom he’d recently spent one of the happiest evenings of his life. Jim couldn’t prevent the soft smile as he made his decision and walked to the group he’d specially invited to attend that night. He heard the quiet muttering and whispering begin as he walked over, grateful that the crowd parted to allow him to reach the group uninterrupted and directly. Jim bowed formally, then offered his hand. “Lady Gaila, would you join me?”

The green-skinned Gypsy Leader laughed brightly, her red hair catching the warm light as she threw her head back to do so. She recovered quickly and smiled with lethal seduction. “Oh, little prince, you honor this poor peasant!” she said loudly, letting everyone know she was not noble, as though her clothing did not already announce her status clearly. He gasps and whispers erupted as the nobility remarked on the scandalous choice Prince Jim just made in asking a gypsy to dance with him. “I accept.”

Jim led her by the hand all the way to the middle of the floor, gesturing the musicians to begin just before taking Gaila’s waist and raising their arms into the beginning position for their dance. The music began and their bodies moved in sync with it. They danced in silence until others began to fill the dance floor, the sound of both music and conversation giving Gaila the cover she wanted in order to speak. “I would have thought you would have asked your Vulcan instead of me.”

Jim’s shoulders tensed. He barely avoided looking around the crowd for Sybok’s face. Had he missed him? Not that it mattered. “He’s not my Vulcan. He never was.”

Gaila narrowed her eyes at Jim. “That cannot be true.”

Jim forced himself to swallow. “He’s engaged to be married to someone else.”

“That seems unlikely, considering his behavior with you.” Jim opened his mouth but she spoke first. “I know you made love in my camp, no matter how much you tried to keep each other quiet. Even if I hadn’t heard it, I know love when I see it, Prince.”

Jim refused to let himself hope. There was no reason to hope anymore for what could never be. Sybok had left today, to go and be married, and not to Jim. “Then you saw what you wanted to see,” he said, miserably. “Just like I did.”

They danced in silence for another three turns. “Did he tell you of his engagement himself?” she asked.

“No,” he replied, avoiding eye contact as much as possible, unwilling to let her see the emotion he desperately tried to contain. “My mother told me the day we left your camp.”

Gaila hummed to herself in thought. “And who told _her_?”

“The Viscount Marcus and his daughter.”

She nodded. “And would they have a reason to give Her Majesty false information?”

That question made him look her in the eyes. He had no idea how he managed to keep dancing in that moment of clarity. “I wondered that, too.”

Gaila’s expression radiated a mixture of anger and certainty. “And that reason is?”

“A royal marriage,” Jim whispered, half in horror, half in sudden comprehension. Was it a lie? Was Sybok truly engaged? If he were not, why did he not appear here tonight?

“I see,” Gaila said, interrupting Jim’s racing thoughts. The end of the first dance approached quickly, the music coming to its natural ending point. She leaned close to speak softly in Jim’s ear. “If your lover didn’t tell you of his tie to another, why should you believe such a claim from anyone else?”

Jim had trouble breathing. “I don’t know.”

The music ended. Jim stepped back and bowed to his partner. Lady Gaila curtsied in return. Jim watched her turn and quickly return to her people feeling more confused and conflicted than before this entire evening began. As he left the dance floor, movement caught his attention. He looked towards it and saw Lady Janice standing on the edge of the ring of people gathered around those dancing waiting for their turn, expecting invitations as a dance partner. Jim admitted that Lady Janice was certainly beautiful, he tried to muster a smile to acknowledge her. When she smiled at him, Jim froze at the realization that Janice lacked all of the playfulness in her smile that even Lady Gaila held. Instead, Lady Janice looked at him with ambition and hunger, with Jim in the role of her prey.

Deeply conflicted and unsettled, Jim walked right past the Royal Dais and out the door, hoping to escape public scrutiny and his own suffocating emotions before he had to seal his fate in misery and unhappiness without the person he loved at his side. Jim failed to notice that he had been followed.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

“Alright, laddie, pay attention,” Mister Scott commanded as he approached Pavel with a tiny device in each hand. He held one out to Pavel, who took it as the man instructed, “Give this one to Spock right away, and you keep hold of this one.” He handed him the second identical device.

Pavel had no time to study these intriguing gadgets before the older man took him by the arm and hauled him onto a strange little platform in the center of the room. “Stay on that,” Scott ordered, then hurried away to a console nearby. The humming, beeps, and dings responded to each command Scott programmed into it. “Get him ready. In forty-five minutes, I’ll bring him to the gates. Hopefully, that’s enough time for him to dress and everything.” He said the last to himself. He honestly had no idea how long it would take Spock to prepare himself to arrive at the Masque. He just knew that in an hour Prince James was to name his life partner. Having known of the Prince’s strong interest in Spock, since the Prince followed the Vulcan in the Palace’s courtyard, Scott knew he had to bring Spock here before the hour struck.

“I can’t get home in forty-five minutes, nevermind help Spock get ready!” Pavel argued. That timeframe was completely unrealistic. This Scotsman clearly had no concept of time.

Scott didn’t even seem concerned by Pavel’s protestation. He looked up from the console and grinned proudly. “You can now, laddie.”

Pavel heard a beep, and in the next moment saw the man and console in front of him blur. He thought he was dying. But that strange room at the Palace turned into the main foyer of the manor. He had no idea what he’d just experienced, and he didn’t have time to think about it. He had a job to do.

He ran to the locked door to the root cellar. “Spock!” he cried. “Spock!”

“Pavel?” Spock’s voice came from the darkness of the Vulcan’s impromptu prison. “What is it?”

“Here! Take this!” Pavel reached up and shoved the tiny device at Spock, who cautiously accepted it.

“What is this?” Spock asked.

“Just don’t drop it,” warned Chekov. “Or it won’t matter!”

He heard Spock’s confusion clearly. “What won’t—” The distinct humming sound cut off Spock’s question. A second or two later, Spock appeared as if by magic standing beside Pavel. Spock, still clutching the little device, stared at the youngest servant of the household. “How did you—”

Pavel heard footsteps coming towards them, but since all of the Marcus Family had already left, he didn’t even need to look to know they belonged to his parents. “From the wizard who made the floating shoes,” Pavel told Spock with a mischievous grin.

Spock’s eyes stung with tears that he did not even try to conceal.

Pavel’s parents swarmed them both, Natasha taking hold of her son while Pike embraced Spock tightly. “Come on, now,” Pike said when he released Spock. “No time to waste. Let’s get you ready for the Masque.” He turned and began to pull Spock along by the wrist.

Spock, unexpectedly, resisted. “I do not wish to go.”

Silence fell among them. Natasha approached Spock and quietly reminded him, “If you stay, then the Viscount and Janice win.”

Spock grimaced. “This has never been a game to me, nor did I ever wish to attract Jim’s interest. He is not some prize in a competition.” Spock tore himself free of Pike’s hold and looked to the floor miserably. “And, regardless, I am not worthy of him.”

To everyone’s surprise, Pavel spoke up. “If you aren’t, then how come the Prince spent all that time with you instead of someone else?”

Spock turned to Pavel. “He thinks I am someone else. Had he known I was a servant, he would have barely looked at me. He did precisely that when he stole our horse.” He looked at Pike. “Had he looked upon me then, he would surely have recognized me hours later when I went to the Palace to bring you home.” Spock shook his head sadly. “I am no lord, and as such, I cannot go to the Masque.”

“Then go to tell him the truth,” urged Natasha.

Pavel saw Spock struggle to stay calm, but as soon as Spock spoke, he clearly did not succeed. “How can I face him like this? As no one!” Spock exclaimed.

“You aren’t no one, Spock,” Pike said firmly. “Because you’re important to him. He loves you, Spock. He deserves to hear the truth from the one he loves, and no one else.”

Spock’s shoulders slumped as he sighed quietly. Pavel, along with his parents, waited for Spock’s further response. When Spock gave the smallest of nods in resigned acceptance, Pike took Pavel’s shoulder and gently shoved him along the hallway. “Pav, go and get Lord Sarek’s formal wear from where we hid it.”

As Pavel hurried away, he heard his father tell Spock, “You will look like the nobility you were born to be.”

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

The conversation with Gaila during their dance disturbed Jim and left him questioning the choice he’d made when he’d learned of Sybok’s engagement and departure. What should he do? Jim leaned heavily on the parapet and sighed deeply. He had been certain of his decision before the Masque began that night, but now…he simply wasn’t anymore. Doubt plagued his certainty and questions grew in his thoughts. Who should he choose to name as his spouse for the rest of his days?

Lady Janice Marcus?

T’Sai T’Pring? A complete stranger to whom he had never even spoken? The thought of wedding a Vulcan female, even were she lovely, he knew would leave him heartbroken. In her features he would search for something that reminded him of Sybok. Joining their lives while his desires and wishes were only for another would be supremely unfair to her.

And then there was Lady Janice. She clearly broadcasted her desire for the comforts and luxuries of a royal lifestyle. Jim knew that Viscount Marcus practically gift-wrapped his daughter for him, and pushed her in his direction at every opportunity in his determination that she would have the life she wanted. _Likely the wealth and privilege she wanted, too,_ Jim thought with some bitterness. He did not love her, he barely even liked her. With Lady Janice, Prince Jim knew he would never find contentment. He knew that with every fiber of his being. Yet, if he decided to marry her, he would do his duty and expect her to do hers in the efforts of continuing the Kirk Family Line. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he thought of taking Lady Janice to bed to produce his heirs. It betrayed his heart. He wanted Sybok. He could never have Sybok. _Perhaps this is my own self-made purgatory,_ Jim wondered, _to love someone I can never have and want him even after I’m told he can never be mine._

“Jim?”

He whirled to face the owner of the voice, surprised that anyone had even followed him. The man who stood before him was a man he didn’t expect. “Sam,” he exhaled with admitted relief. “I thought you Dad at first.”

Sam flashed a charming half-grin. “He wanted to tail you as soon as you walked off the dance floor, but I beat him across the room and managed to distract him so I could sneak in here first.”

Jim smiled. “How’d you distract him?”

“Oh, I didn’t distract him myself. But one look at our mother and she did the honors for me.”

Jim couldn’t quite manage to chuckle, the decision he faced weighing heavily on his mind suddenly and all over again. He turned to stare off in the distance over the parapet again, trying to pick the option that would leave him less miserable in his marriage. He hadn’t even noticed that Sam had approached until he felt his hand plant itself on his shoulder. “What’s bothering you, little brother?”

Jim shook his head. “This whole…marriage thing. I have to announce someone tonight.”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “I thought we had that all figured out. Aurelan and I will provide you with the heirs you need, and you’re free to marry Sy—”

“But he’s not free!” Jim interrupted. “I found out yesterday. He’s—” Jim’s chest tightened as he struggled to tell his brother. “He’s engaged to be married to someone else.”

It was silent between the brothers for what seemed like five minutes. “I don’t believe that,” Sam stated. “Who told you?”

“Mother.”

Sam didn’t hesitate. “And who told her?”

Jim looked at his brother, wondering for a second if Gaila had somehow informed Sam of their discussion in the seconds after their dance had ended. He realized that there couldn’t have been enough time. Sam’s suspicions were his own. “Viscount Marcus,” he answered.

“Hmm,” Sam hummed to himself. “If that’s the case, that Sybok’s engaged to someone else, who are your choices?”

Jim huffed in frustration. “T’Sai T’Pring or Lady Janice.”

“Who’s Lady Janice?”

He hesitated before answering. “Viscount Marcus’s daughter.”

Sam stepped back in surprise. “You don’t think that’s convenient at all?”

“Sam—”

Sam held up a hand for silence, and even though he no longer held authority over Jim, the younger brother obeyed immediately. “The man who told our mother of Sybok’s engagement is the father of one of your two options to marry? There’s an ulterior motive there, little brother, that even you must see.”

“I do see it, Sam!” Jim snapped. “But if it’s not true, then why isn’t Sybok here?” Jim forced himself to calm down. “Based on that, I have no other choice but to believe them. And it doesn’t change the fact that I have to announce my spouse tonight!” He leaned onto the cold stone. “I don’t have the luxury of time to find out what is or isn’t true, even though this whole thing feels so wrong.”

Sam shifted his weight awkwardly. “You’ve already made a decision, haven’t you?” Jim nodded shakily. “It’s just not the one you want.” Jim shook his head. “Jim,” Sam said, reaching to try to comfort his brother.

Jim moved away and began to speak before he could even think about censoring his words or reigning in his feelings. Everything came pouring from him quickly like blood from a fresh wound. “As much as I don’t want to choose her, I’ve decided on Lady Janice.” He didn’t even hear his brother’s dismayed cry of protest. “The Marcuses are connected to Sybok’s Family. He’s staying – stayed – with them while on Terra. By marrying Janice, maybe I could see him again, even if I never get to touch him again, or kiss him again, or be anything more to him than The Crowned Prince of Terra, then—then I could see that he’s okay, that he’s healthy, and that his spouse, whoever that is, cares for him. I might get to see him again.” Jim ran his hand through his hair, trying to salvage his frantic emotions. He thought of the marks on Sybok’s face and neck and grimaced at what he’d just said. “But I know his fiancé doesn’t care for him like I do – like I would have. But just seeing him again would let me know he’s alive.” He forced himself to breathe deeply to calm down. “Everyone wins that way, don’t they? I do my duty, our family continues with my heirs, Janice gets the life she covets from me, and then everyone gets what they want.”

Sam stood there, staring at his emotionally distraught brother. “Not everyone, Jim.”

Jim didn’t even try to contain a quiet sob. “I know.” He thought of a phrase from the Vulcan engagement ritual that he’d learned just in case he chose T’Sai T’Pring in a moment of panic. _Parted from me and never parted._ A bitter laugh escaped him. He and Sybok would be parted physically, but Jim knew he would never part with him mentally and emotionally because of the memories he had of his lover. _Parted from me and never parted, indeed,_ Jim thought miserably.

“Little brother, I don’t want to see you—”

“James! Here you are!” King George bellowed as he quickly approached his younger son. “I trust you have a name for me to announce?” he prompted the second he stopped walking.

Sam, no longer of the Royal Family and therefore stripped of his privilege, turned sharply to the King and bowed. “If you’ll forgive me, Your Majesty, but His Highness hasn’t fully thought about his other options regarding—”

Jim held up a hand to silence his brother. “Thank you, Sam, but I’ve made my decision.” His voice clearly broadcasted his misery. Jim looked at The King. “What time is it, Father?”

King George saw the despondency in his boy’s expression.  “It is nearly midnight.”

Jim’s entire posture deflated as he sighed, his body slumping as though weighed down by the chains of office that lay upon his shoulders and around his chest and back. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Then, let’s get this over with. The sooner the better.”

Jim didn’t get to take one step before his father stopped him with a grip on his bicep. “Son, I—” Jim’s head hung forward but he said nothing. This saddened George to see his son so distressed. He looked at Sam, his abdicated son. He’d spotted him during the Masque from across the throng of people, watched him laughing, smiling, and completely happy with his peasant wife among the people for whom he’d chosen to give up his life of privilege. Sam had found happiness by giving up his station. But here before him stood his younger son, and Jim’s entire body radiated all of the unhappiness and misery that Sam completely lacked. “Son, we don’t have to announce anything tonight,” he softly assured him. “I put too much pressure on both of you boys, and the cost was losing my firstborn from my life.” George then spoke directly to Sam. “You are happy?”

Sam hadn’t expected to be addressed. He’d assumed his parents held some resentment for abandoning his birthright. He’d only come to the Masque because his brother had invited him. “Your Majesty?”

George frowned. “I’m talking to you as your father not your king.”

“Your Majesty, I’ve abdicated, therefore, by law, I am no longer your—”

“George Samuel Kirk, you will _always_ be my son. Now I ask again, are you happy?”

Sam licked his lips to stall his answer and hide his surprise at the King’s words. He cleared his throat and righted his spine to stand tall and proud. “Yes, Father, I am.”

George nodded towards Jim. “And does your brother look happy now?”

Sam looked at Jim, already knowing how he would answer. “No,” he confirmed. “He isn’t.”

George sighed heavily. “I have never told you boys some things because I’d hoped your lives would be happy ones. When your mother told you, James, that being born royal meant you also had specific obligations, she never meant that those included making impossible choices or to give up everything joyous in your life in order to fulfill your royal duties.”

“Father—”

“Let me finish,” ordered the King. Jim and Sam both closed their mouths and silenced their protests and comments. “I just wanted to say that—there is no reason why you can’t have at least one thing that you want.” Jim’s only thought was that he wanted Sybok, but he doubted his father meant that. “Your idea about the Academy, for instance, is brilliant. I will do all I can to make it so for you. I know one of your dreams has been taken from you already. I will try to make you happy with making this one a reality.” George had been accosted by Winona last night following her emotional talk with their son. He had no particular enthusiasm for Jim, his only remaining heir, wedding a male Vulcan, but if his absence filled his son with this level of despair, he wished he had the power to deliver the Vulcan Lord to James himself. As a father, it pained him to see his child heartbroken and to know himself being unable to ease that pain. “Now, that being said, if you would rather we delay on announcing anything tonight—”

Jim shook his head. “I’ve made my decision, Father, for better or worse,” he said resignedly.

George put his hand on his younger son’s back and guided him back towards the cacophony of the Masque. “And who shall we say?”

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

He felt only a little bit guilty that he partially neglected his duty of keeping tabs on Prince Jim in favor of searching out one particular woman. Captain McCoy had a new appreciation for how annoying Masques could actually be when you were trying to find one person in a room full of people concealing their faces. It didn’t help that he also had to wear a stupid mask, or that he’d agreed to wear this one just to shut down Jim’s amusement. How was he supposed to find anyone in this mess?

He’d noticed that Jim departed the main area following the first dance. Even McCoy had been surprised when he’d chosen an Orion peasant woman as his partner, essentially slighting every single noble lady in the room by doing so. Regardless, after the initial surprise had worn off, things went along rather unremarkably. However, McCoy still couldn’t find who he wanted to find and his frustration mounted. With a quick huff of irritation, he made his way to one of the refreshment tables. All this searching and shoving his way through tiny circles of chatting people or walls of other people made him thirsty. _My God, it’s hot with all these people,_ he ranted to himself.

Across the table he saw a masked woman grab a bite-sized cheesecake so fast he almost missed it. He expected her to practically inhale the tiny dessert, but, to his surprise, she slowly took a bit of the mini-cheesecake and chewed slowly. Even from where he stood across the table from her, he could not miss the soft moan this woman made from her delight in what she’d sampled. McCoy smiled at the display of her very simple pleasure. He snatched up two flutes of champagne and went around the table to this mystery-woman’s side. “You know, I have the drinks, so if you just grab that whole plate, we’d be able to just have a secret little picnic in some corner or something.”

The woman behind the mask gasped. Had he just been completely inappropriate? _I just propositioned this woman,_ McCoy realized. _Or at least she could’ve taken it that way!_ “Um…I mean, that came out wrong.”

“Captain?” she asked, shyly lifting her mask just enough so that he could see most of her face.

McCoy almost dropped the champagne flutes. “My lady!”

Carol Marcus licked her lips to conceal her grin at his embarrassment. “Do you flirt with all the ladies this way?”

McCoy floundered for something to say. “I didn’t mean it as flirting.”

“Oh,” Carol deadpanned, her bright expression dulled immediately. “I’m sorry I misunderstood then.”

This wasn’t how he wanted this to go, not after he’d been looking for her since the guests had begun arriving. “No, my lady, it’s fine that you did. But I—” He sighed through his nose. “Would you like a drink?” he asked, awkwardly holding out one of the flutes.

Carol stared at him for a few moments before accepting it. “Thank you.”

Having enough of this mask-wearing nonsense, McCoy tilted his back so that it hung behind his head like a hood. Both of their masks were constructed similarly, a cowl configuration so that the mask came up from behind and rested on the crown of the head, the face of the mask forming a sort of cage around the wearer’s features. It left one able to eat and drink, but still conceal the majority of the face. That it protruded forward quite a bit made it cumbersome and annoying, especially when trying to work a path through a crowded room. Carol followed his example and flung her mask all the way back as well. They smiled at each other. “Funny how we both ended up going with horses, though,” McCoy observed.

Carol shook her head and took a long sip of her champagne. “I didn’t have a choice.”

McCoy looked out at the dancers in the middle of the room. “I bet he gave your sister whatever choice she wanted in the world, though.” When he looked back at Carol, she’d taken her bottom lip between her teeth. With her head down, she nodded. Anger flooded him at the sight. He looked back out and easily spotted Lady Janice Marcus being led by some man to join her in a dance. Why did people pay her more attention when she had such undesirable qualities? Carol’s dress rustled and he turned to her only to find that she’d completely turned her back to him. “My lady, if I’ve offended you, I—”

“You didn’t, Captain. I just—I can’t look at them right now.”

For an instant, McCoy thought that might be because Janice basked in the spotlight and the attention while her sister lingered in the shadows. “Would you rather be in her place?” he asked as he came around her so that she didn’t need to face the direction of her family.

Carol giggled as she looked at him. “Not for the world.”

McCoy smiled at her. Then, an idea struck him. “Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, my lady?”

Carol grimaced. “I’m afraid I will be rather dreadful. No one has ever taught me.”

“Well, that kind of makes two of us, then. My version of it is something like swaying instead of dancing.”

Carol truly laughed then. “I think I can do swaying.”

McCoy took her champagne from her hand and put them both on the edge of the table. Without a word, he offered his hand and she took it immediately. She settled her other hand on his shoulder as he slid his palm around to the proper place at her waist. They stood like that for a moment. This was the closest they’d ever been, the most they’d ever touched. McCoy swallowed nervously and then began to sway to the music. His gaze flicked to the dance floor and the complicated-looking steps they all did together with their partners. _Let Jim handle that madness. I’d rather this._ Carol stepping closer brought him back to the present. She lightly pressed her ear to his chest and sighed contentedly. McCoy drew her closer, changing the arrangement of their arms to be more comfortable.

“Thank you for seeing me.”

Those words froze McCoy. What had this woman gone through with her family? He’d noticed her right away. Anyone with even a half-way decent eye would notice Carol over her sister. “How could I not have seen you, my lady?”

She pulled away enough to look up at him. “No one else ever did.”

McCoy gently brushed back stray locks of her hair. “Then they should’ve learned to pay more attention. That’s their loss.” He tilted his head forward, then hesitated, knowing what he wanted to ask but unwilling to voice the request because he suspected she would simply comply because she felt she should.

Carol, however, had wanted this since he had presented her with flowers. She did not intend to let this moment go to waste. She raised herself onto her toes and quickly kissed him. It lasted less than a second. She retreated and lowered her body back from her toes. Her cheeks grew warm with embarrassment and she tried not to breathe too quickly. She looked down at the floor, trying to hide her embarrassment. She would have fled had the Captain not been holding her in his arms.

Stunned, surprised, yet delighted, McCoy reached out to cup her cheek in his hand, and angled her head so that he could see her eyes. “Yeah?” he asked, happy that she seemingly felt about him as he felt about her.

Carol, blushing furiously, smiled while biting her lower lip. She nodded. He smiled back at her.

“May I court you, my lady?”

Carol giggled. “I thought you already were.”

“Informally. I’d like it to be formal from now on.” McCoy took a deep breath. “What do you say, my lady?”

“Yes, my captain.”

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

He watched as a young nobleman escorted his Janice to the floor for another dance. She’d been the chosen partner for many dances already, except for the one they both had been counting on. Prince James. He’d slighted Janice by asking a dirty peasant woman to be his partner for the first dance. That honor should have belonged to his daughter, no one else, and especially not to a poor and dirty slut like that green-skinned alien. Janice had been very disappointed by the Prince’s actions and nearly made a scene had it not been avoided by demanding that the nearest nobleman dance with Janice. It placated her for the time being, and with the attention given her since by man after man, she hadn’t seemed to notice how much time had gone by.

But Viscount Marcus noticed.

He watched as Prince James left the Masque immediately following the first dance, and he hadn’t returned yet. What could possibly be more important than this? It had been the only thing everyone had spoken of for a week. It had been the event to which everyone looked forward. And now the Prince excused himself from it? That made no sense. However, his suspicions were aroused.

Ever since he’d learned of the Prince’s dalliance with his whorish and disgusting servant, Viscount Marcus wondered if the Prince had learned the truth yet. If he’d simply accepted what he had told the Queen to excuse the Vulcan’s absence tonight. Though, there was a far less appealing possibility. The Prince suspected their tale to be untrue and sought the truth of the matter himself.

Even without being here and safely locked away at the manor, Spock managed to ruin their plans for Janice’s engagement to Prince James. This would not do. He needed to handle this little problem, and needed to handle it fast. A large figure caught his eye among the revelers, and Viscount Marcus smiled wickedly. Without searching for an answer, his answer had presented itself to him.

He wasted no time in going over to him. “QumwI’ Hegh,” he purred. The hulking and solidly muscled Klingon turned and acknowledged him with a nod. “I have a proposition for you.” Hegh said nothing, only sipped his wine, his silence being enough to encourage the Viscount to give his pitch. “When my daughter is announced as the Princess-to-Be, I will still have a problem in my home when Prince James comes to call upon her.”

“Your problems are not mine,” Hegh growled, turning away.

“Ah, but this is one which I cannot afford to keep lying around. I will not have him turn the Prince’s attention away from my daughter, you understand.”

The Viscount mentally congratulated himself on his victory when the Klingon turned back to him.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

McCoy groaned as his communicator chirped. “McCoy here.” He stepped away from Carol, knowing it was silly since she’d be able to hear everything anyway.

“Thompson here, Captain. We’ve arrested a trespasser in the gardens and are holding him in the dungeons. Request permission to begin interrogation.”

McCoy frowned. Who would be stupid enough to trespass onto the Royal Grounds tonight of all nights? Was this person insane? “Did you get a name off him or anything?”

“He called himself Zulu or something like that. He claims that he came to talk to Mister Scott.”

Carol gasped behind him. McCoy looked at her. “Stand by, Thompson.” He muted his communicator and went back to Carol. “You know him?”

Carol blurted, “I’m sure he means _Sulu_. He’s a servant in the neighboring manor to ours.”

“You’d know him to see him?”

“Of course. I’ve known him for years,” she confirmed.

McCoy needed only a moment to decide. “Come with me.” He offered his arm to make it look less urgent to prying eyes. He raised his communicator again. “Thompson, delay questioning. I’m on my way.” As he led Carol into the Palace and through the corridors, he explained. “My guess is that if he sees someone familiar, he might be a bit more cooperative and talk to us. Are you on good terms with this guy?”

Carol thought of how she’d gone to him to hide the remaining possessions belonging to Lord Sarek and Lady Amanda. Sulu hadn’t trusted her when she’d arrived, but before they’d finished their task, Sulu seemed not to have an issue with her. He certainly had a strong dislike for her father and Janice, but not for her. Carol had been relieved. “I believe so, yes.” Over the course of the past week, in particular, she’d grown disgusted by the actions of her family. She was ashamed to be the Viscount’s daughter.

“Good enough,” said McCoy. They walked towards the dungeons in silence, but even McCoy couldn’t stand that quiet for long. “You know,” he began casually, “His Highness was hoping someone would show up here tonight.” Carol’s eyes widened, knowing immediately that McCoy referred to Spock. “He found out yesterday, though, that Lord Sybok’s already engaged. Damn Vulcan couldn’t even have the decency to mention that as Jim courted him. Just led him on a merry chase this past week.” McCoy’s voice dripped with disapproval.

Carol barely noticed the Captain’s mood, however, because his words concerned her first and foremost. Engaged? Spock is certainly _not_ engaged. He had only ever lived in the manor, visited Hikaru Sulu in the neighboring property, and gone to the marketplace to sell their estates crops. When would he have had the chance to meet anyone else, to say nothing of a potential mate or the courting process? That made no sense to her. McCoy’s words also told her definitively that Prince James had been courting Spock this past week, thus explaining all of the strange behavior Spock exhibited this entire time. But…Sybok? Why would Prince James think Spock’s name was actually Sybok?

Before she knew it, Captain McCoy had brought the two of them all the way to the dungeons. She didn’t even pay attention to the conversation between McCoy and his officers. She became mentally present again when she heard the venom in Sulu’s voice as he asked with deadly calm, “What is she doing here?”

McCoy offered his hand and brought her closer to the cell in which Sulu stood. “I brought her here so you’d have a familiar face. Perhaps you’d be more comfortable with—”

Sulu strode right up to the forcefield holding him in the cell. He glared at Carol and completely ignored McCoy. “All of this is because of you! Your father and your sister!”

Carol didn’t have time to be grateful that he’d excluded her from that blame. “I was trying to help him!”

“And look how well that went!” he screamed. “He got locked away so he couldn’t come here tonight, even with the Prince expecting him!” McCoy tilted his head as the phrase caught his undivided attention. “I had to help him because no one else will. Unless Pavel made it through, then I didn’t do much good, did I?” Sulu gestured with both arms to his prison. He resumed pacing aggressively in front of the forcefield.

“Wait, who’s locked away?” McCoy asked. He suspected the answer but he needed clarification. He hoped his instinct proved correct.

“Spock,” Carol said immediately.

McCoy turned to her. He’d expected the name Sybok. “Who’s Spock?”

Sulu stopped pacing and turned his head to glare at both of them. Carol, however, quietly answered before Sulu could. “The Prince knows him as Sybok.”

“What?” McCoy was confused. He glanced between Sulu and Carol, the former of which continued to glare at her, while she looked down at the floor.

“His name isn’t Sybok,” Carol said. “He’s not engaged.  My—Janice—tried to steal his mother’s wedding dress for tonight. When Spock protested and defended himself, my father locked him in our root cellar. That’s why he isn’t here now.” She found the courage to look up at McCoy. “He’s not a Vulcan Lord, but he is my stepbrother. His name is Spock.”

McCoy could never have anticipated that answer. He stared at Carol as her story sunk in. What did all of this mean? He looked at Sulu. The man’s expression had lost some the anger. Sadness had replaced it. He met McCoy’s gaze and nodded, confirming Carol’s story. There was nothing left for it. “Release this man, but escort him from the grounds. I don’t want him seen by the Marcus Family.” His officers nodded and immediately began fulfilling their Captain’s orders. McCoy took Carol’s hand and left the dungeons at a brisk walk. “Can you run right now?”

Carol didn’t bother to reply verbally. She gathered up her skirt so she wouldn’t trip on her dress. McCoy increased their pace to a jog. “I gotta tell Jim about this right now. Come on.”

Together, Captain McCoy and Lady Carol began to run back to the Masque.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

He swayed on his feet as he materialized just outside of the Palace Gates. He didn’t understand how, but the strange device had brought him here. He still had it on him. Pavel had forwarded Mister Scott’s instruction just before Spock had been brought here. “ _When you are ready to come back to the manor, or if you need to get back quickly, activate the tracker and you’ll be brought back home.”_ Spock hoped he did not need it. He hoped that he would find Jim, tell him his true identity, and, most of all, that Jim would accept him as Spock, the servant kept by Viscount Marcus.

They had hurried to get him ready to arrive at the Masque. Pike had dressed him carefully in the traditional robes of Vulcan nobility that had once belonged to his father, Lord Sarek. The fine white fabric weighed less than morning mist, and flowed as smoothly as a tranquil river. The delicate silver embroidery shimmered in the light, and the inset pearls and sapphires sewn into the robe’s fabric across his chest shined. His neck looked longer with the high collar, adding to his noble image. While Pike helped him into these foreign robes of Vulcan, Natasha tamed his long hair into the knots she claimed his father had worn during the days he had courted Lady Amanda. Apparently, upon their wedding and bonding, Spock’s mother had asked Sarek to cut his hair a little. Sarek, reluctant initially, had agreed to her wishes in the end. Natasha worked quickly and with practiced hands. She tied up the majority of his hair into an intricately woven knot high in the back of his head. It was not a proper hairstyle, since she wished to keep the bruise on the back of his neck as concealed as possible. She styled some of his hair to trace Spock’s nape, to conceal the discoloration and to compliment how she decided to arrange the front of his hair. Long sections she let hang to frame his face in front of his ears. She split each side piece and tied a loose, low double square knot, and secured the knots in place by a tiny metal clasp that weighed those side knots down. This arrangement accentuated his exotic Vulcan ears and showed him off as the nobility he should have been had it not been for the Viscount’s interference.

Pike had added the final touch to Spock’s ensemble. The IDIC pendant lay heavy against Spock’s sternum, grounding him, but also giving him reassurance that this is what his parents would have wanted him to be in their absence, a confident and steady individual who knew his value and could walk without shame. Spock touched the interlocked circle and triangle as he stared at the Palace before him. “Breathe,” he coached himself. “Just breathe.”

Pike and Natasha had stepped back to look at him when they had finished. Natasha had her hand over her mouth and Pike immediately wrapped an arm around her shoulders to hold her close. _“I need a mask,”_ Spock had insisted. Pike shook his head.

_“Sybok was your mask.”_

Spock closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Go,” he told himself aloud. He took one step, and then another, and another, until he strode across the ground, through the gates, and towards the murmured sounds of conversation.

A loud _bang, bang, bang, bang_ sounded from the other end of the immense courtyard. The muttered conversation halted slowly. And then the voice of the King boomed over all other sounds. “Friends and Honored Guests, it is with great pleasure on this night that we acknowledge the work of Mister Montgomery Scott—” The King’s voice lowered a little. “—who seems to have neglected to attend this evening.” Spock hurried towards the crowd, trying to find a way to possibly be noticed among such an incredible amount of people. “Additionally,” The King continued, “the time has come for a greatly anticipated decision.”

Beside the King stood Prince James and the Queen. Jim barely listened to his father’s words, wondering how everything had gone so wrong, and how he’d ended up in this very moment about to name a bride for whom he did not even pretend to love. His eyes wandered to Lady Janice, who stood beside her father, with barely contained giddy excitement. She grabbed onto the Viscount’s hand to stop her gleeful shaking. She smiled at him, but with stunning clarity of thought, Jim recognized the smile not as one of happiness, but of victory. Jim lowered his head, willing himself to be able to disappear in that moment and avoid this situation entirely. He knew his heart would always belong to Sybok. He wanted nothing more than to look up and see Sybok standing before him.

“Therefore, without further delay, it is my great pleasure—”

Jim swallowed and looked up. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

“—to announce the engagement of our son, Prince James, to—”

“Stop!” Jim choked on the word. He came. Somehow, he didn’t care how, Sybok had come to him. When Jim next exhaled, it almost came out like a sob of happiness and relief. Before he knew he had moved, Jim leaped from the dais and ran. The people parted for him immediately.

Spock knew he would never make it through the crowd so that Jim could see him. He knew he was lost among so many people. This had been for nothing. Jim’s engagement was about to be announced, and he knew the name to be said would not be his. He stood, frozen where he’d only managed to walk and stared hopelessly at the Prince. Then, by some miracle, Jim looked up and their eyes met. He couldn’t move.

Jim ran through the separated crowd, countless emotions running through him, all of them getting stronger and more overwhelming the closer he got to Sybok. Finally, after a seemingly endless run, Jim stood breathlessly face to face with his lover, with the one he wished to take as his husband. Jim smiled, so great was his joy that he failed to notice that Sybok radiated nervousness.  Jim took him in with his eyes, noting the formal hairstyle, his fine clothing, and the displayed jewelry in a moment. His lover stood before him trembling. That would not do. Jim closed the distance between them and spoke in a hushed, breathless tone. “My mother told me you were getting married.” He swallowed, trailing his first two fingers down the silken fabric covering his Vulcan’s arm. “Is it true?”

Spock stared at Jim, unable to find the words he urgently needed to say before they moved from that spot. “No, it is not true.”

Jim exhaled in relief, catching Sybok’s fingers with his own. Then, Jim smiled at him. “I was about to make the worst mistake of my life.” With his free hand he cupped his soon-to-be intended’s cheek. “By the way, love, you’re late.”

“Your Highn—” Spock’s words were cut off as Jim kissed him. “Jim!” he gasped as they separated for a second before Jim kissed him again. “Please.”

“Yes,” Jim said between kisses. “Marry me,” he commanded, certain of his lover’s agreement.

This had not gone according to Spock’s plan. He needed to do what he had set out to do by coming here. “Jim, I must speak with you.”

Jim’s smile grew. “We’ll speak after. First, I need your answer. Marry me?”

Spock knew Jim enough by now to understand that he had to answer before Jim would be able to even discuss another topic. “Yes,” he said. “I will marry you.” Jim’s excited and anticipatory smile changed into one of satisfaction. “Now, please, there is something I must tell you now before another word is spoken.”

Before either of them could speak, the King’s voice carried from the other end of the courtyard calling for the Prince to bring his chosen partner forward. Of all times to immediately obey his father, it had to be that moment. Jim grabbed Spock’s hand and turned to lead him to the dais. Spock tugged in opposition. “No, wait, Jim, please.”

Jim faced him again, so deliriously happy at this turn of events that he could not possibly have understood the true reasons for his fiancé’s sudden reluctance. Was he nervous? Jim brought them close and tried to reassure him. “There’s nothing to be scared of. The King and Queen already know who you are. I told them yesterday morning.”

Spock froze. The King and Queen had been told of him, but it was a lie. They heard about Lord Sybok, not Spock Grayson. How could he possibly fix this without being put to death for misleading Royalty? “You what?” he blurted, too terrified of his fate.

“I told them I chose you. It’ll be fine. Just come and meet them.” Jim quickly kissed him once more. “Don’t be scared.”

“Jim, please,” Spock said a bit firmer, pulling on Jim’s hand to halt their progress. “I must tell you that I’m not Lord Syb—” His voice was robbed from him as someone behind him viciously pulled the chain of the IDIC pendant back, choking him. He let go of Jim’s hand to try to free himself. He barely saw Jim whirl around as their connection broke.

“Viscount, contain yourself!” Jim shouted, enraged at what he saw.

Viscount Marcus stood behind Spock, his hand twisted in the chain around Spock’s neck, choking him to silence with it. The Viscount looked murderous. “He is an imposter, Sire!”

Tears filled Spock’s eyes. He just managed to voice the agonized word, “No!” before a harsh yank on the chain silenced him further.

The Viscount raised his voice so that all could hear him. “His name is Spock, and he’s been a servant in my estate for the past ten years!”

“A _servant_ , James?” The King bellowed.

Jim stood there rooted. Silence fell over the entire courtyard and everyone’s attention focused on the confrontation before them. The only sound to break the silence was the choking Vulcan trying to breathe. “Release him,” Jim ordered, ashamed of the way his voice shook as he spoke. Viscount Marcus sneered at the Prince and let go of the chain. As Spock’s head fell forward, his starved lungs gasping for air, the Viscount tangled his fingers in Spock’s hair and pulled his head back forcing him to stare straight ahead at the Royal Family. Jim took a step forward. How dare the Viscount do this? “You are in dangerous territory, Viscount.”

“Jim—” Spock sobbed, his tears finally spilling from his eyes. “Please.”

“Ask him, Your Highness!” Viscount Marcus demanded, loudly. “Ask him who he really is.”

Jim looked at Sybok. He knew who he’d courted this past week. He didn’t need to ask him. Jim loved him. He was going to marry him. He’d inspired Jim to be a better man. Jim made love to this Vulcan, and it had been the happiest night of his life. Jim knew him. This was the Vulcan who convinced him to accept his royal responsibilities without bitterness or resentment. Yet, Sybok wept now. Why?

“Since you are not brave enough, Highness, I’ll tell you,” the Viscount sneered. “This peasant is a deceptive, scheming pretender.” Spock reached up to pry the Viscount hand from his hair, his breathing quickening in his panic. “And it is my duty to reveal him as the covetous whore he is!”

After those words, Viscount Marcus shoved Spock away from him by his hair, throwing the Vulcan off balance so that he stumbled. Jim rushed forward and caught him. Spock, consumed with shame, blindly held onto Jim’s tunic. It was the only thing keeping him standing. “Jim,” he sobbed, unable to say anything more. “Jim!” Jim gently gripped Spock’s arms to steady him. He tried to bring his lover into his arms, but the Vulcan locked his elbows and kept himself at arm’s length.

Softly, Jim urged, “Tell them who you are.” Spock began to shake violently, but he said nothing. Jim needed him to talk, he needed him to deny what the Viscount had just said. He needed this not to be true. “Tell them!” he commanded. This time, Jim saw him flinch in terror.

Spock pushed against Jim. He had to leave. He had to run from here before guards apprehended him and the King sentenced him to die for his unintended deception. For humiliating the Crowned Prince. Spock, panicking, looked around for any exit that would do. All he saw were the disgusted faces of the noble people gathered around them. HE saw their disdain, their hatred of him. They didn’t even know him and they hated him. His actions and his deception, whether intentional or not, had shamed and humiliated not only himself but also Prince James. He began to pull away from Jim further, ready to flee.

Jim saw Spock looking around, as though he were a cornered animal, looking for safety in his terror. Spock’s unease transferred to him, and Jim began to look around as well. Everyone attending the Masque stood silently around the three of them, but their judgmental, offended expressions welcomed neither Jim nor Spock. Some of the people directed their displeasure at the Vulcan, but others directed it solely at their Prince. Looking at his subjects and their hatred of him and his chosen partner left Jim more vulnerable than he could ever remember feeling. Jim had never felt more exposed in his life than he did in that moment. He had no idea where he could turn for support.

Viscount Marcus seized the opportunity of the Prince’s distraction to add one further disgrace to Spock’s existence. With a snarl, he kicked the back of Spock’s knee, satisfied with how the Vulcan cried out as he crumbled. “Bow before royalty, you insolent fraud!” he roared.

Jim’s attention instantly went back to Spock as he fell. This was not the witty, confident, but shy Vulcan with whom he’d fallen in love. He didn’t recognize his lover in this person forcibly kneeling at his feet. Who was this Vulcan? “It can’t be true,” Jim whispered in desperation. This couldn’t be real. What Viscount Marcus said could not be real. Jim needed this not to be true. He heard someone running, but he didn’t look. He looked only at this Vulcan, this broken Vulcan, weeping in front of him. Jim bent just enough to hook his fingers gently under his lover’s chin so he could coax him to look into his eyes.

Spock struggled to breathe through his devastation, but he couldn’t contain his sobs or his tears. He swallowed as he looked into Jim’s eyes, recognizing the Prince’s desperation for all of this to be a nightmare. Jim still held on to the smallest hope for their relationship to survive. “Tell me it’s not true,” Jim demanded quietly.

He had come to this place tonight determined not to lie anymore to Jim. Spock had hoped that when he told Jim the truth that he would forgive him and not order his execution for deceiving royalty. He had hoped. How naïve he’d been only an hour ago. Spock should have known that being here tonight would never end well for him. Either he would be put to death by Royal Command or the Viscount would ensure he knew nothing but hardship and cruelty. He should have known. With nothing left to lose anymore, Spock decided to do what he had meant to do when he’d met Jim in the woods by the river. He would not lie anymore. And with his softly spoken words, “Sybok is the name of my dead brother, and Skon my grandfather. My name is Spock Grayson. I am what Viscount Marcus says,” he saw the last of Jim’s hope for their union die in his eyes.

The murmuring of the people around them immediately started.

It was true. The Viscount’s words were true. Jim froze in shock as he withdrew from Sybok—Spock—and stared down at him. A peasant. He’d somehow fallen in love with a peasant. “Was it all some kind of joke to you?” he asked with remarkable calm.

Spock shook his head. “No, never—”

“Your Highness,” Jim growled venomously.

“Your Highness,” Spock corrected himself. “I never sought to embarrass you.”

Jim struggled to hide his own heartbreak, his feeling of betrayal, his devastation at this revelation behind a mask of a stern prince. “You did an excellent job of doing just that.”

Spock did not dare look away now. He knew he had no support from anyone around him, and so he continued to look at the man whose heart he’d just broken as his own shattered within himself. “Your Highness, no apology will undo the damage I have inflicted upon you, and because of my injuries to your person, I am aware the consequence is my life.”

 _Those words_ , thought Jim. _They’re familiar somehow._ Déjà vu struck him and he recalled an incident at the Viscount’s estate. He’d stolen a horse, and had his feet taken from beneath him by a broom in the hands of a fiercely protective servant. A servant with pointed ears, and beautiful long black hair, who fell to his knees upon recognizing him. The person who knelt before him then was the very same as the one on his knees now. Jim’s breath left him in shock. How had he not known? “The stable,” Jim mused aloud. “That was you?” He knew there could be no other answer, yet he couldn’t believe it. His vision blurred as tears stung his eyes.

“Please, Your Highness,” Spock begged hurriedly, desperately, “I can explain eve—”

“Someone had better explain this!” roared the King.

Jim recoiled at the King’s voice. His humiliation grew with every second that passed. He’d intended on naming his lover as his fiancé tonight, intended to introduce him formally to his parents, intended to marry him within the week, only to learn of the impossibility of such a choice with Spock’s station. He could have refused T’Sai T’Pring for a spouse of nobility. But to spurn her for a commoner? Such a thing was impossible.

“I should be interested in an explanation,” The Queen said, her voice a quieter contrast to her husband’s tone. Jim looked back to his mother, seeing her gaze shift between her son, the servant, and the Viscount behind him. Then, Jim recalled their conversation in the Royal Gardens.

Jim turned to Spock, who flinched as he rounded on him. “First, you’re engaged to be married to someone else. And now, you’re a servant!”

“Jim!” The Prince whirled to the left and saw his most trusted friend and Captain of the Guard pushing himself through the thick crowd. “Your Highness, listen to me!” Jim noticed that coming through the crowd beside McCoy was the younger of Viscount Marcus’s daughters. The sight of her filled Jim with the rage of betrayal. How deep did the scheming claws of this household reach?

“Silence, Captain!” he snapped.

“Your Highness, please, just—”

Jim shouted, “I said, ‘Silence!’” Suddenly, everything overwhelmed him. He saw everyone staring at him, he heard some of the whispers, and he felt like everything was closing in around him. He needed to control this disastrous situation. He gathered as much of his destroyed dignity as he could and walked to stand in front of Spock again. “Rise,” he commanded. He ignored the sadness in Spock’s eyes. He did not have the luxury to be with him any longer. He had to harden his heart, bury his feelings, and reject him. He had no choice as the Crowned Prince who had been publically humiliated and made into a fool.

Spock looked at Jim and saw nothing of the kind and loving man with whom he’d fallen in love. The man who stood before him was once more the Prince of Terra who did not even glance at him when he had only been a servant who tripped him with a broom. “Your Highness, please—”

“Get out,” Jim forced himself to say. “You are not to set foot on these grounds again. If you do, you will be taken into my custody and held here until proper determination of your fate.” By law, he should already be doing so, but Jim could not bring himself to order the Vulcan he’d been about to name his fiancé placed in chains and shut away in a cell. By law, Jim should be calling for Spock’s life for his deception, but he could not do it. By hurting him, and barring him from the Palace, Jim believed he was saving Spock’s life.

Spock closed his eyes unable to bear the absence of all affection in Jim’s eyes. He couldn’t withhold a final sob as he turned away from him and began to walk away. His legs shook with each step. Someone blocked his way. He looked up. The Viscount stood there gazing at him with victorious satisfaction and hatred. Spock stood, waiting for the Viscount to let him pass. He did no such thing. His humiliation increasing, Spock stepped around the Viscount and continued to walk shamefully through the murmuring crowd towards the Palace Gates. When he heard the murmurs become words, “parasite,” “mutt,” “Vulcan whore,” his walk became faster and faster until he found himself running from the Masque.

Jim watched until Spock began to run. He needed to leave. He had to get out of here. He looked around to see if anyone would even notice his departure. Viscount Marcus stared at him, then slid his eyes to the side. Jim followed his gaze to find Lady Janice also gazing at him, her predatory and seductive smile trying to lure him to her. How could he have been so close to announcing her as his bride? He looked over then to McCoy, expecting to see sympathy for his situation, but instead he was met with disapproving anger and disappointment. A quick glance at everyone else let Jim know that his exit would be unnoticed by most everyone. He took advantage of it.

Because he turned away, Jim did not see someone follow Spock’s departure.

Spock had almost made it to the Palace Gates when he heard quick, thundering footsteps. He increased his pace, but it was not enough. A large hand grabbed his upper arm and turned him to face his attacker. He only had a moment to recognize his assailant before another hand was around his neck and his back slammed into the nearby wall. Spock lashed out and his fist struck flesh before his attacker restrained him fully.

“Coming here tonight was your greatest mistake,” QumwI’ Hegh purred, tightening his grip on Spock’s throat as he trapped the Vulcan against the wall with his much larger body. Spock futilely tried to pry the Klingon’s fingers from around his neck with his free hand. “You can’t run from me forever.”

“Oiy!” someone shouted from a distance. “What’s goin’ on there?”

Spock could only just hear this other person running towards them, but he had no hope of being saved. He struggled harder against Hegh, knowing he likely would never be able to overpower the much stronger Klingon. Hegh leaned in close to Spock, “You’ll be mine soon,” he promised. Hegh took Spock’s lips for his own and groaned as he tasted the Vulcan he’d craved for years.

“Hey! Get off!” the running man cried out as he grew closer and could see the situation.

Hegh pulled away to smile menacingly at Spock. “Soon,” he groaned, his arousal obvious in his tone.

“Guards!” the approaching man shouted. He was almost upon them.

Hegh ran his fingers along Spock’s cheekbone, the act one of claiming than tenderness. Spock shuddered. “So soon,” he whispered. He further tightened his fingers around Spock’s throat until he began to gasp for air. As Spock tried to breathe, Hegh took his lips again and plunged his tongue into his victim’s mouth. His pleasure lasted only a moment before Spock bit down. With a roar, Hegh drew back his fist and slammed it into the very cheekbone he’d just caressed. The blow knocked Spock from his grip and the Vulcan scrambled to escape him. Hegh reached out blindly, his fingers catching on the chain around Spock’s neck. He pulled hard, but Spock pulled in opposition with equal strength. The chain snapped free and the pendant flew through the air. Desperately and stumbling, Spock ran as fast as he could. He disappeared into the darkness beyond the lands of the Royal Palace in seconds.

Hegh evaded the summoned guards and slid into the shadows, his goal mostly accomplished. He’d frightened the Vulcan enough for now. He’d waited this long, he could wait a bit longer.

Surrounded by the guards he’d summoned, Montgomery Scott picked up the interlocking triangle and circle pendant from the ground. “I must see the Prince,” he told the nearest guard. “Now.” As far as he was concerned, Prince James had a great deal of answering to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Please let me know your thoughts on how you found this chapter - I'd love to hear your reactions. Some lines of dialogue were borrowed from the film on which this fic is based, just because there really wasn't a bettter way to phrase things than in the film's version. As for this chapter, and the pivotal scene itself, personally, I'm not totally pleased with how it turned out, but it demanded to be written this way, so I have to trust my instincts on this one I suppose. Thank you for reading again. Hope you enjoyed it! ~ RK


	13. The Seeds of Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone reading this story of mine. Enjoy the new chapter. I'm working on the next as fast as I can. I have not been very healthy lately and am dealing with some personal concerns, but I am trying to write as much as I can in the free time I have. Please be patient. Thank you! Please note, some dialogue in this chapter was borrowed by the TOS Episode "Amok Time." (IF you recognize that dialogue, yeah, obviously I didn't originally write it.) Enjoy! ~ RK

Queen Winona stared across the table at the lovely Human woman who represented the Royal Family of Vulcan, specifically T’Sai T’Pring. She’d summoned Miss Nyota Uhura to meet with her that morning for a one precise reason. However, she contented herself by making vague small-talk as they enjoyed a light breakfast. Once the meal had been consumed to the point where only their tea remained, the Queen finally raised the topic she truly intended to discuss. “As attendant to T’Sai T’Pring, you are most knowledgeable in Vulcan culture and history, are you not?”

Nyota sipped her tea carefully, studying the Queen, and wondering why such a basic question would be posed to her at such a late hour. “I am, Your Majesty.”

Winona smiled. “Excellent.” She stalled by stirring non-existent sugar in her rapidly cooling tea.

To Nyota, the Queen seemed deeply in thought. She would not typically interrupt, but the strangeness of the inquiry demanded explanation. “If I may, Your Majesty, what prompted your question?”

Winona’s attention snapped back to Miss Uhura. She mustered a smile, though it did not reach her eyes. She ignored the other woman’s question and posed another of her own. “And in your knowledge, are you able to trace the family history of one particular Vulcan?”

Nyota’s dark eyes softened in understanding. “You speak of the Vulcan from the Masque last night, do you not, Your Majesty?” The Queen nodded gravely. “He is a servant. I would not concern yourself with it, Your Majesty.”

“Are you dismissing my question because of the impending arrival of T’Sai T’Pring to my home?”

One of Miss Uhura’s eyebrows rose. “In full honesty?”

“I would expect so,” Winona clarified.

Miss Uhura took a quick breath. “That is a factor, Your Majesty.”

“And the other factor would be?” Winona sipped her tea again, her gaze never once leaving the Vulcan aide.

“The other, You Majesty, is that it would seem pointless to investigate the lineage of such a person. I understand that His Highness may have held certain carnal desire for the peasant, but—”

“Be careful, Miss Uhura,” warned The Queen. “My son’s affections towards this _peasant_ are far more genuine than the polite manners he offers to T’Pring, as we are both aware. I will not have my son’s heartbreak and humiliation flaunted before _me_.”

Miss Uhura set down her teacup and saucer. “I meant no disrespect, Your Majesty. My only intention was to point out the futility of such an investigation.”

Winona grinned over the lip of her teacup. “It is not futile if I command it.”

“As you say, Your Majesty.”

The Queen also set down her tea. It had grown cold anyway. “And I do insist upon it,” she stated in a tone that brooked no refusal. “Since you are the resident expert in Vulcan genealogy, with full access to Vulcan’s Planetary Records, I require the following information.” She waited until she knew to have Miss Uhura’s undivided attention. “I wish to know the lineage of the common family line regarding siblings named Spock Grayson and Sybok. Also, there must be a record of their grandfather named Skon. These are the names that were revealed last night during my son’s humiliation. I want to know who he truly is and the entirety of the truth.”

Miss Uhura nodded sharply. “As you command, Your Majesty.”

The Queen waved a hand in clear dismissal. “You may go.”

Miss Uhura stood, presented the Vulcan ta’al, and walked towards the door. Then, Winona remembered one last thing. “Wait, Miss Uhura!” Nyota turned to face the Queen. “I want you to also look into the Viscount Marcus’s Estate.”

Miss Uhura’s brows came together in her puzzlement. “May I ask why, Your Majesty?”

The Queen only smiled. “Personal curiosity, Miss Uhura.”

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Jim had secluded himself in his chambers since the events of the Masque. He admitted no one to see him and spoke to no one save Captain McCoy.  Even speaking to him, his most trusted friend and guard, left a foul taste in Jim’s mouth.

Ever since the events of last night, Jim’s mind and heart were in turmoil. He’d gone from being about to announce Lady Janice as his bride, then Sybok— _Spock!_ —had arrived and Jim had been elated. That elation dissolved into humiliation the moment his lover’s— _former lover’s—_ identity had been so cruelly revealed by Viscount Marcus and the impossibility of a union became apparent to every single person in attendance. Therefore, Jim had no other choice but to take Sam’s place as originally planned and wed T’Sai T’Pring. She would arrive tomorrow morning, and in the afternoon they would wed.

Jim swallowed the lump in his throat. The object on his desk caught his eye and he found himself lured to it. He looked down upon it, the interlocking circle and triangle pendent that Sybok— _Spock!—_ had been wearing.

 

 _He still heard the whispering in his head even as he stood alone at the parapets where he’d spoken to his brother and father about his happiness and choice in spouse. Jim still had no one he wished to truly name as his life partner, and his happiness had been destroyed within the last five minutes. He leaned heavily against the stone, trying to calm his panicked breathing._ A servant! _He clenched his eyes, wishing the evening were simply a torturous nightmare from which he would awaken any moment._ He’d fallen in love with a servant – a peasant! _He laughed bitterly._ Of course I would, _he thought._ Of course he would be a servant. _His laugh became a sob._ I had to _fall in love_ with a servant. _He couldn’t escape that fact. He still loved Sybok. Jim flinched at the name he now knew was a lie._ Spock, _he tested the name in his head. “Spock,” he whispered to no one._

 _Did Spock feel the same agony ripping through Jim at this moment?_ Of course he does, _he bitterly reminded himself._ You caused it. _Fresh pain tightened in his chest, stealing his breath._ So did Viscount Marcus. _The Viscount’s cruel revelation had placed Jim in an impossible situation. He had no choice. He could never take_ Spock _as his husband, not with his low station. Had he truly been noble, Jim could have immediately silenced Viscount Marcus and welcomed Spock into his family before everyone. But_ Spock _wasn’t noble, he was a peasant. A prince could never wed a servant._

_Pounding footsteps caught Jim’s ear and he turned just as the shouting started. “No one is to pass the two of you,” barked Captain McCoy. “That’s an order!” His stationed guards chorused agreement, but McCoy didn’t even pause in his stride to acknowledge them. In another three seconds, Jim’s most trusted friend and Captain of the Guard invaded his personal space. “What the hell did you do, Jim?”_

_Jim’s anger rose. “You were there and saw everything. And it’s ‘Your Highness’ right now.”_

_McCoy nodded then mockingly bowed to his charge. “Oh, I’m sorry,_ Your Highness, _” he hissed venomously. “May I ask what just went through your empty head just now out there?”_

_“Careful, Captain,” Jim snapped back. “You are addressing your prince.”_

_“Then, damnit, act like one!”_

_Jim’s brother flung himself between the two men, speaking to the Prince, but his tone held much more softness than the Captain of the Guard’s voice. “Jim, how could you treat him like that?” Jim’s face twisted as he remembered what he’d said to his lover moments ago._ Former lover, _he corrected. Sam grabbed a handful of the rich fabric at Jim’s chest to demand his younger brother’s attention. “You love him!”_

_Jim struck Sam’s hand away from him as he shouted, “He lied to me!”_

_Somehow, Sam kept his voice gentle but resolved. “Not about his feelings for you.”_

_“All this time, he lied!” Jim’s entire body shook as his adrenaline began to quickly leave him. His legs were unsteady and, despite the sky being above him and the fresh air surrounding him, he felt like he was suffocating. “He lied about everything.”_

_While Sam struggled to find the words that would comfort his brother, McCoy found his voice first. “Something tells me that he came here tonight to tell you the truth.”_

_Jim’s mind went immediately back several minutes, back to where he stood before Spock, who wept in shame and humiliation, and Viscount Marcus, who looked at Jim with triumph. “How can I possibly trust someone who lied to me as much as he did? How do I even know I love him when I fell in love with a lie? You can’t love someone you don’t trust, Bones!” Then, Jim remembered something with vivid clarity. McCoy had tried to talk to him, to tell him something, and Jim had silenced him. At McCoy’s side had been Viscount Marcus’s other daughter. Just thinking of her standing next to his friend filled him with justification in how he spoke to McCoy in those moments. Jim glared at McCoy. “And who made you think that? The Viscount’s other viperous daughter? Is that whole family trying to sink their claws into wealthy connections any way they can? You believe her?”_

_McCoy’s expression hardened into deadly stoicism. “If you weren’t my prince and my friend, I would’ve had you on the ground with my fist in your jaw for that.” Jim, without hesitation, believed McCoy. “The Viscount Marcus and Lady Janice might be the vipers you think they are, but you don’t know Lady Carol. I do. Leave her out of your resentment, for she’s done nothing to deserve it.” McCoy took a deep breath. “Regardless, we’re talking about_ your _affairs, not mine. And had you listened to me a few minutes ago, I would have told you what Lady Carol told me before the Viscount went and humiliated you both tonight.”_

_That caught Jim’s attention. He stood, staring at McCoy with a sinking dread in his stomach. “What did she tell you?” he asked quietly._

_McCoy inhaled deeply and slowly through his nose. “That the Viscount deliberately prevented him from coming. He locked him away so that he wouldn’t be here.”_

_“What?” Jim whispered, horrified that Viscount Marcus would go to such lengths. “But he—he was engaged.” He heard Spock’s own denial of that claim in his head once more. Jim had asked him immediately when he saw him. Then, Spock had tried to stop Jim from escorting him to the King and Queen, telling Jim—“Oh my God,” Jim said softly. “He tried to tell me. He said he had to tell me something.” Jim turned away from McCoy and Sam and leaned heavily on the stone of the parapet. “What have I done?”_

_“Jim,” McCoy said, slowly approaching his friend. “There’s more.” Jim looked at McCoy, both wanting and yet unwilling to hear the rest of the information he did not have when he’d spurned his lover so publicly. “She told me that Spock is her step-brother.”_

_Sam’s brows came together. “That can’t be possible.”_

_“Could it be possible?” Jim asked._

_“I’m telling you, Jim,” McCoy stated. “It_ is _possible.”_

_Before any of them could continue the conversation, a distinct raised voice caused a commotion. “Ye bastards!” shouted the angry brogue, “The Prince’ll want to hear what I have to say! Now, let me through!”_

_“Orders are no one is to pass!”_

_McCoy rolled his eyes. “Damnit,” he growled, and then strode to his guards. “Let Mister Scott through!” he ordered._

_“Tha’s right, move!” Scott ordered, heatedly. He hurried right past Captain McCoy and went straight up to the devastated prince. “Yer a right bastard, ye know that?” He didn’t even give Jim a chance to respond before continuing his tirade. “Do ye have any idea what tha’ lad went through to even_ get here _tonight?” His distinct accent had grown thick with his tumultuous emotions. “Two of his friends snuck onto these grounds to find someone who knew the lad enough to help!” He gestured to McCoy. “He arrested one of them, but the wee lad, Pavel, I think, made it to me. I sent him back with a transport-beaming device to get yer Vulcan out of the room he’d been locked in, and then I blindly beamed him to yer gates. He came here because_ he loves you _, and you fed him to wolves!”_

_Jim couldn’t listen to any more. “You think you have all the answers, Scotty? You have your machines and your experiments but you know nothing about being torn from someone you love!”_

_Scott grinned wickedly at him. “Ah, little prince, I told ye when we first met that what you love is your life, Your Highness.” Jim felt sick. “I know you love that lad, and you may have made the biggest mistake of yer life by turning him away tonight.”_

_Jim knew it. He knew Scotty was right. He turned his back to the three men, and only then did he let his tears fall. “Leave me,” he commanded them shakily. “Leave me,” he repeated, forcing his voice to steadiness._

_“I’ll be right over there with my men, Jim,” McCoy told him, gently. Jim nodded without looking at him. He didn’t really expect McCoy to stay far away regardless of his commands. He heard Sam sigh and then walk away without another word. Mister Scott hesitated for a moment longer. Before Jim could dismiss him again, he heard the man place something metal on the stone of the parapet closest to his hand. “Ye don’t deserve that lad,_ Yer Highness. _” Jim didn’t say a word in reply. But he waited to look at what the object was until Mister Scott’s footsteps had faded away. There on the stone rested an interlocking circle and triangle pendant._

 

The pendent that Spock had worn around his neck. The pendant that Viscount Marcus had strangled Spock with as he disgraced not only Jim but the Vulcan he loved.

Still loved. Jim couldn’t lie to himself. He still loved Spock. Their union, however, could never be.  

Firm knocking on his outer doors jarred him from his thoughts. “Who is it?” Jim asked.

“It’s Uhura,” came her authoritative voice from the other side of the door. “It is time.”

Jim nodded to himself. _Yes,_ he thought, _time to meet the future bride I never wanted._ He touched his index and middle finger gently to the pendant, bestowing a Vulcan kiss to the only thing he had left of Spock. A kiss of farewell filled with his own regrets. Duty called him, and he did not want to answer. Yet answer he would. Jim stood, his hand closing unintentionally around the pendant, and walked from his sleeping chambers to his sitting room where he kept his private comm unit. Apparently, T’Sai T’Pring insisted on this method of introductions before they met in person for their marriage. He wished that he could have gotten to know her, even a little, before they publicly tied themselves to each other until death. After all, he’d been able to get to know Spock before—

 Jim forced the thought from his mind. _I never got to know him at all. Perhaps this way is better._ He settled himself at the comm unit before he called out to the Vulcan representative and trusted attendant of T’Sai T’Pring. “Enter,” he commanded.

Miss Nyota Uhura entered the sitting room, wearing the formal robes typical of Vulcan nobility. She was Human, but she wore the garments of her foreign position remarkably well. Her clever dark eyes missed nothing, and her solemn expression revealed nothing of her thoughts. Had Jim not known that Vulcan traits included slanted eyebrows and pointed ears, he would have assumed Miss Uhura to be the quintessential Vulcan.

“Your Highness, you must stand for this meeting. To sit is disrespectful,” she informed him as she met him at the comm unit. She looked him over from head to foot in an instant. “Is this your finest clothing?”

Jim took a deep breath. “My finest is to be worn upon my marriage, Miss Uhura,” he said as calmly as he could muster. “I would think wearing it now would spoil the ceremony for T’Sai T’Pring. Do you not agree?”

Miss Uhura huffed in a mixture of frustration and disagreement. “I would have to be blind and ignorant to think that you are looking forward to this union—” Jim opened his mouth to speak. Uhura held up a hand for silence as she continued, “—but this is your reality, Your Highness, and you will show T’Sai T’Pring the honor and respect she deserves.”

Jim stared at Miss Uhura’s firm gaze for a moment before he sighed and dropped his eyes. “You’re right, Miss Uhura. My apologies. She has no more responsibility in causing this marriage than I do.”

Her expression, though still largely without emotion, softened encouragingly. “You remember what I taught you, Your Highness? The words you must speak?”

Jim nodded. “Yes.”

“Very well.” She gestured to the comm unit. “May I?”

Jim nodded. Miss Uhura expertly input a series of commands to the unit and quickly worked to establish contact. She received audio within seconds, said something in Vulcan that Jim did not understand, then quickly stood slightly behind and to the right of Jim. “Stand tall and make eye contact immediately, Your Highness,” she whispered her final instructions.

Jim straightened and stared forward at the viewscreen in the place where he hoped would be T’Sai T’Pring’s eyes. In another moment, he no longer had to guess. A severe yet unquestionably beautiful Vulcan woman came into focus on the viewscreen before him. Even from her image in a screen, she commanded respect and radiated dignity. He cleared his throat before initiating the traditional and ritual Vulcan words in a Promise of Union. “T’Pring, it is I.”

T’Pring’s fiery eyes swept over Jim in subtle appreciation. “James,” she practically purred, her tone even but seductive. “Parted from me and never parted. Never and always touching and touched. We meet at the appointed place.”

Jim knew that they were not intended to meet until their marriage ceremony, as was traditional in interplanetary unions. Apparently, this was also true for Vulcan bondings in noble families. He took a steadying breath before he spoke the expected reply. “T’Pring, parted from me and never parted. Never and always touching and touched. I await you.”

T’Sai T’Pring nodded deeply. A second later, her image faded from his viewscreen.

Jim shifted in surprise and uncertainty. “That’s it?” he blurted to Miss Uhura, who instantly gestured for him to be silent. She hurried to the comm unit and spoke in Vulcan with a fluency Jim could never hope to reach for many, many years. Jim expected that he would have an opportunity to speak with T’Pring briefly, but apparently this was not what Vulcan Tradition permitted. His thoughts drifted back to Spock and how they spent hours together talking to one another, learning about each other, arguing at times until that confrontational passion brought them together at the lips. Jim swallowed. He had to stop thinking about Spock. He would be T’Pring’s mate now, not Spock’s, no matter how wrong it felt.

Another knock on the outer doors echoed in the sitting room. Jim jumped at the sound. “Your Highness?” Relief flooded through him at the sound of McCoy’s voice. “Jim?” He glanced at Miss Uhrua, still bent close to the voice pickup and speaking Vulcan, then he stepped towards the doors himself. As he went to open the door, he realized he still clutched the pendant. Awkwardly and frantically, Jim scurried to the closest small table and set it down, then went back to open the door to admit his friend and Captain of the Guard. “Your Highness,” McCoy said, immediately getting to business, “I would like you to authorize the release of a prisoner.”

“Can it wait, Bones? I’m kind of in the middle of—”

“Actually, the meeting is concluded, Your Highness, Captain,” declared Uhura as she approached the doors.

McCoy cleared his throat to reclaim Jim’s attention. “Jim, considering yesterday, I have no reason to hold Mister Sulu here any longer.”

Jim nodded distractedly, wanting to be alone to think on the interaction, however brief, he’d just had with his future wife. “Then, sure, fine, release him.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” McCoy said. He turned smartly and headed away from the prince’s chambers.

Miss Uhura came to stand before Jim. “T’Sai T’Pring and her party are on schedule to arrive tomorrow morning as previously arranged. She will require three hours of preparation for the ceremony, and will not see you until you meet—”

“At the appointed place?” Jim quipped, with forced levity.

Uhura held back a grin. “I will allow this disrespect only this one time, Your Highness.”

“I assure you, no disrespect was intended.”

For the first time since becoming acquainted with him, Miss Uhura allowed herself to smile. “Relax, Your Highness. The meeting went well.”

“Yeah?”

“Indeed,” she said, graciously. “If you will excuse me, Your Highness, I must complete final preparations for T’Sai T’Pring’s arrival.”

“Of course, Miss Uhura.” Jim stepped aside so that she could leave. He closed the doors with a sense of finality. He had no choice but to go through with this arranged marriage now. He turned from the doors and walked back into his bedchamber in need of solitude, quiet, and a place in which to escape.

Because of his singular intentions, he failed to notice that the pendant no longer lay on the table upon which he’d placed it.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

McCoy heard the quick footsteps behind him long before Miss Uhura called out, “Captain, a word?” But he did stop and turn to face her until she finally caught up to him, his expression silently asking her to continue. “This prisoner,” she began, pretending to momentarily forget the name, but not fooling McCoy, “Mister Sulu?” He nodded. “May I ask what is the nature of his crime?”

McCoy studied Uhura. Why would she be interested in this? He decided that an answer with as little specifics as possible would satisfy her. After all, she was at the palace to ensure the connection of Terra and Vulcan through marriage. Why would she care about a prisoner connected to the Terran Prince’s lover? Perhaps she was investigating any competiton that T’Sai T’Pring may have for Jim? McCoy banished the thought immediately. With everything that happened the previous night, there remained no competition or even a choice for Jim’s future spouse. It would seem his choices had dwindled from three to one within hours, that option being T’Sai T’Pring. But, he decided that there would be no harm in humoring Miss Uhura in her question. “He hopped the Palace wall.” With that, McCoy turned and walked away in order to complete his duty of releasing the man about whom they spoke.

Uhura hurried after McCoy, persistent and firm in continuing her questions. “But why? Surely he would have had a reason to ‘hop the Palace wall.’ No one simply does something like that for their own amusement, even less for no reason at all.”

McCoy was in no mood to gossip. He had things to do. But it had been made quite clear that Miss Uhura, as T’Sai T’Pring’s attendant and representative of Vulcan, would be given the same rights and consideration as any high-ranking diplomat. Sometimes McCoy quite disliked the formality of royal decorum. “Well, with His Highness agreeing to go through marrying your Vulcan woman—”

“You will refer to her as T’Sai T’Pring!” Uhura snapped.

McCoy struggled not to roll his eyes. “ _T’Sai T’Pring_ ,” he growled through clenched teeth, “it doesn’t really matter what his reason for trespassing was anymore. And therefore, I have no reason to hold him here.”

“This man knows the Vulcan that His Highness exiled last night,” she stated.

McCoy’s pace halted and he turned to face her. “And what would make you conclude _that_ , Miss Uhura?” He narrowed his eyes at her, searching for answers before she gave them.

Uhura met his suspicious gaze calmly. “The Vulcan last night was His Highness’s lover, was he not?” McCoy gave nothing away. “You don’t need to answer me, Captain. That is obvious. You forget I, too, attended the Masque and knew that it was His Highness’s opportunity to escape the arrangement between the Terran Royal Family and the High Family of Vulcan. You stated that there is no reason anymore for you to hold this man prisoner. It must be because of last night’s events. The only conclusion is that Mister Sulu knows that Vulcan boy personally, and that he trespassed onto the Royal Grounds for some reason. I’m very interested in that reason. Are you not?”

McCoy took a deep breath. It seemed a little more truth shared would be needed. “I know the reason. I found out why just before everything went to hell last night.”

Uhura tilted her head as she thought aloud. “But not in time to prevent the actions of His Highness.”

He shook his head. “No.”

Uhura looked down at the object she had clutched in her hand. McCoy’s eyes flicked to it. The pendant. He opened his mouth to demand it from her, but she interrupted him before he’d spoken two words. “This belonged to that Vulcan, and your prisoner knows him. It is imperative that I speak to this man immediately.”

Miss Uhura had been granted the courtesy and authority of a diplomat. Therefore, despite his objections and pressing questions as to how she’d gotten that pendant into her hand without Jim’s knowledge, McCoy turned and resumed his walk to the dungeons. “Follow me, Miss Uhura.”

They did not speak further until they reached the cell where Hikaru Sulu sat dejectedly on the stone slab that served as both bed and bench. The peasant looked up at his visitors but said nothing. McCoy couldn’t decide whether he should introduce Miss Uhura to this man or announce that he would soon be free to go. Uhura took that decision out of his hands. “You are Mister Sulu, are you not?”

Hikaru leaned back on his stone slab until his back touched the wall casually. “I might be.”

Uhura huffed. “Depending on how you choose to conduct yourself when answering my questions, you may or may not be permitted to leave your cell a free man, Mister Sulu.” McCoy tried to hide his surprise at her words. She knew full-well that it had already been decided that Sulu would be released. He looked to the imprisoned man, seeing the spark of interest in his eyes. Apparently, the man found the incentive of his promised freedom in exchange for answers something to be seriously considered. He was much calmer facing Uhura than he had been when McCoy had brought Carol down to speak with him.

“Who are you?” Sulu asked slowly as he slid his eyes over Uhura from head to foot.

Uhura flashed a kind smile to Sulu. “My name is Nyota Uhura, attendant to T’Sai T’Pring and Representative of Vulcan. You may call me ‘Miss Uhura.’”

Sulu shifted as he studied her, clearly focusing on several key words of her answer. “So, Miss Uhura, can I ask you a question?” Uhura nodded. “Who’s this T’Pring?”

“T’Sai T’Pring is the fiancée of His Highness, Prince James,” she answered precisely.

McCoy noticed that, with Uhura’s answer, something closed off in Sulu’s expression. “Why do you need to talk to me?”

Uhura’s answer came immediately and without hesitation. “I require information that only you can provide.”

Sulu looked shocked for one moment, then he laughed during the next. “I think you have the wrong guy as an informant, Miss Uhura.”

Uhura smiled confidently. “I think not, Mister Sulu.” She raised her hand and opened her fingers to show Sulu the interlocking triangle and circle pendant in her hand.

Sulu stood and walked to the bars of his cell in an instant, his gaze riveted to the pendant. “Where did you get that?” He reached for it, but Uhura retreated far enough away from him.

“I should like to ask the same question to the Vulcan with whom you are friends enough to risk your safety to climb the walls of this palace in order to help him somehow.” Uhura and Sulu stared at each other in a silent, stubborn stalemate. Sulu ground his teeth, refusing to speak. Uhura stared Sulu down, demanding the information from him, information they both knew he had.

Without looking at him, Uhura spoke to McCoy. “Captain, I must speak with this man alone.”

McCoy nodded, and barked a quick order to the two guards at Sulu’s cell to leave the area and give Miss Uhura and Mister Sulu privacy in which to talk. He dismissed both of them to their other duties. It served no purpose for them to remain there anyways, since McCoy was about to release Mister Sulu following this conversation anyway. He decided that a short walk would suit him well. Nowhere too far, as he wanted to stay near enough to the dungeons to hear if something unfortunate might occur, but far enough away to ensure maximum privacy. As he turned to begin his stroll, he managed to overhear Sulu’s quiet answer to Miss Uhura’s question. “It belonged to Spock’s parents.”

He had not expected that response. McCoy didn’t know exactly what he’d expected, but it hadn’t been that. His thoughts had so consumed him that he almost failed to hear someone speaking just around the corner he approached. “Prince James is marrying the Vulcan princess tomorrow. You’ll only have one chance to disrupt everything.” With Jim’s name mentioned, McCoy froze and listened intently.

“The only thing left to move him might be my daughter’s tears.”

 _Viscount Marcus_ , McCoy thought, recognizing the voice of the man responsible for destroying his charge’s happiness.

“I don’t even know if tears will move him like you want if not even that Vulcan slut’s crying is anything to go by.” Anger sparked in McCoy’s chest at Gary Mitchell’s words. He admitted to himself that he’d liked Spock, even if he was cryptic and shy to a ridiculous degree. He liked what he brought out in Jim. They complimented each other. “But, he might be so messed up at his wedding tomorrow that seeing her cry just might change his mind about committing to fucking a freezer-unit bride for the rest of his life. I’ll make sure your seats are in his line of sight for the wedding. Just make sure that Lady Janice turns on the waterworks for him.”

The reply from Marcus did not come immediately. “You know, Mitchell, our arrangement was that you would guarantee that Prince James would announce my daughter at the Masque, that there would be no question in her being his bride.” He paused, then with an audible tongue click, continued. “But it seems to me that your guarantee hinges on far too many chances. I can’t take that risk.”

“What do you mean, Viscount?”

McCoy leaned a little closer to the corner, not wanting to miss a single syllable.

“I mean that if you cannot guarantee my Janice becoming a princess, and in time a queen, then I cannot guarantee you the hand of my other daughter.” The spark of anger grew into a fire of barely contained rage. The Viscount and Mitchell had planned to trade Carol to secure a royal marriage for Lady Janice. “As such, I’m afraid that I will let you have Carol if, and only if, Prince James marries Janice. If you want her, then you make my daughter a princess.” McCoy felt his hands begin to shake in rage.

“But Viscount—”

“By any means necessary.”

The connection broke between Viscount Marcus and Mitchell, and in that moment, McCoy rounded the corner and had Gary slammed against a wall before the other man could drop his communicator. “Captain!” exclaimed Mitchell in surprise. “What’s the meaning—”

“You’re under arrest, Mitchell,” McCoy said, trying to prevent the rage from being obvious in his voice.

Despite being pinned to the wall, Mitchell laughed. “Yeah, McCoy? You have no grounds on which to do it.”

McCoy felt his rage calm in ways he’d seen animals just before they struck down their prey. “Oh, no?” He spun Mitchell to face the wall, pinned him against it with the weight of his body as he efficiently pulled out a pair of wrist bindings, and fastened them quickly onto the struggling man, a member of his staff, one of the Royal Guards. “You’re charged with conspiracy against the Royal Family and for attempting to force a woman into marriage against her will.” He grabbed Mitchell by the upper arm and his shirt collar and began to bodily shove him deeper into the dunegons, determined to have Mitchell in his own cell within the next minute.

“It’s not against her will, Captain,” Mitchell argued frantically, knowing where McCoy was taking him, and desperate to plead, even beg, his way out of a prison cell if he had to do so. McCoy caught the eye of one of his men and nodded towards a free cell. His guard unlocked the door, and held it open as McCoy approached with his captive. The guard did not even protest that he was bringing a fellow guardsman toward the cell. “I’m…I’m courting her!” Mitchell shouted, his eyes riveted to the cell door.

McCoy’s reaction surprised even himself. He laughed. “No, you aren’t, Mitchell.” He removed the bindings from Mitchell’s wrists.

Mitchell wasted no time and spun to face McCoy. “You doubting me? I’m telling you, McCoy, I’m courting her!”

McCoy placed his hand firmly on Mitchell’s shoulder, like a friend confiding in another. His words, however, were the opposite of friendliness. “I don’t just doubt you. I _know_ you’re a liar, and I _know_ you aren’t courting Lady Carol.” As Mitchell opened his mouth to speak, McCoy silenced him with a blow to the jaw. Mitchell fell to the ground. “I know that, Mitchell,” McCoy said, with a satisfied smile, “because _I’m_ courting Lady Carol.”

With that, McCoy slammed the cell door, confining Gary Mitchell and thus protecting Lady Carol from the threat he posed to her.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

Spock climbed the stairs up to his meager bedroom, physically exhausted. He had overworked his body that day, trying to distract himself from the storm of emotions running through him, pushing his body to his endurance. Christopher had kept Spock in his line of sight the entire day. Spock knew he meant well, and he wanted to make certain that Spock didn’t harm himself. At several points throughout the day, the Viscount watched Spock work, but said nothing. Spock had been surprised that he had not received any lashes for what had occurred the previous evening at the Masque. Perhaps the Viscount believed that his presence alone put Spock on edge, making the Vulcan mentally and emotionally prepare for him to strike.

Only he never did.

The Viscount said nothing, and did nothing, to Spock. He simply watched him, but he could not disguise his disgust at the sight of Spock. Spock knew that this would not last. Sooner or later, the Viscount would resume his cruel behavior. He would simply have to be ready for it.

Yet the end of the day had come, dinner had been served to the Viscount and his daughters, yet nothing had happened. While they all finished the last of the household chores for the day, Christopher, Natasha, Pavel, and Spock all anxiously waited for the proverbial axe to fall. They all exchanged silent, nervous glances with each other, but they dared not speak. The Manor had never been more silent than that evening.

Spock pushed the door to his bedroom open, the simple movement making his sore muscles ache. He looked up and froze. He could not find his voice.

A hulking Klingon he had never before seen stood at the foot of his bed lazily playing with a ceremonial knife. He smiled at Spock grotesquely. “Nothing to say, Vulcan?”

Spock’s breath came quickly, panicked. He backed away towards th hall and the stairs, but gasped in terror as his back collided with a solid, large body. He cried out as he lunged forward, but the Klingon behind him grabbed his upper arm hard. Spock spun and delivered a blow to the Klingon’s face. It knocked him off-balance but did nothing to dislodge the grip on Spock’s arm. With a growl, the Klingon efficiently swept Spock’s legs out from under him, bringing both of them to the bare floor. Spock’s breath left him on impact, and he feebly struggled beneath the muscular body pinning him down. “Good,” the Klingon growled, using his heavier weight to immobilize Spock. “He likes when they fight. He likes when they squirm under him.”

Spock bucked with a desperate shout. His hands were slammed down and held against the floor, so he tried kicking as hard as he could. The Klingon above him laughed. Tears stung Spock’s eyes as his own helplessness became more and more apparent. The second Klingon knelt close to his head and slid the deadly blade to rest threateningly against Spock’s throat, putting an end to their captive’s struggle. “You will come with us.”

“No,” Spock begged, ashamed that his tears began to fall.

The Klingon above him chuckled. “Yes, you will,” he said, as he began to roughly tie Spock’s wrists together with a rough rope. “Willing or not, you’ll go wherever we drag you.”

“Please, don’t.”

“Don’t be afraid, Vulcan,” the Klingon beside him cooed, running his armored hand through Spock’s hair in a mockery of affection. Spock shook beneath the Klingon in terror, crying and trying desperately not to sob. “It’ll be over soon.” Spock knew the only way that would be true would onlybe if he were to die. Otherwise, it would never be over, especially not soon. The Klingon signaled with a communication’s device in his hand and spoke three simple words. “We have him.”

“Bring him to me. We depart for Kronos immediately.”

Spock could not breathe. QumwI’ Hegh. QumwI’ Hegh commanded these Klingons. He tried to draw breath but it only came in shallow, panicked pants and gasps.

“At once,” confirmed the Klingon, then disconnected. “Get him up,” he commanded his companion.

The other Klingon bared his teeth at Spock in a predatory smile. “We should sample him, open him up for Hegh.” He thrust hard against the body beneath him. Spock felt bile rise in his throat, nearly choking him in his horror.

His superior’s hand struck like a snake, grabbed the other’s throat and tightened. “He would know and he would kill you where you stand for taking his prize before he did. Do you wish your death?” The captured Klingon shook his head with a hiss. He released the other Klingon’s neck. “Banish your cravings and we’ll deliver this to him. Afterwards, we shall find our own mounts.” They smiled at each other in agreement.

Spock was hauled to his feet roughly. The knife returned to his throat. “Make no sound, Vulcan.”

“You will not kill me,” he managed to whisper defiantly, despite his overwhelming fear.

“No,” the Klingon said, licking Spock’s cheek slowly. “But I can damage you.”

The Klingons forced Spock down the stairs, but with the sheer bulk and gracelessness of the warriors, their descent did not go unnoticed. Spock heard frantic footsteps cross one of the rooms, and as they were turning a corner, Spock’s ears caught the horrified gasp of Natasha. “Spock?” Spock turned to look at her and wished he had not. His own terror looked back at him. “Spock! No!” she shouted, coming forward. “What are you doing? Chris! Chris! They’re taking him! They’re taking Spock!”

Spock was shoved further, but one of the Klingons broke away to handle Natasha. “Be silent, woman! He is the property of QumwI’ Hegh now.”

“No!” Natasha screamed. “No! Spock, no!”

Spock could not see them, but he heard the unmistakable sound of a fist hitting flesh and a body falling to the ground. That was when his adrenaline spiked. “Please, don’t hurt her!” he cried, trying to turn in the Klingon’s hold. “Leave her alone!” They approached the front door where another Klingon opened it so the one forcing Spock forward could remain focused on his task. Just in front of the house waited a sinister looking hovercar, the interior enclosed and cloaked in darkness. Spock knew who waited inside, and he froze, crippled by terror. Desperately, regardless of his bound wrists, Spock grabbed onto the doorjamb and tried to prevent moving towards the hovercar. “No! No, please!” he cried. “No!”

“Spock!” Christopher shouted from inside the house. “Oh God, not Spock, please!” Spock heard something hard smash into someone, and a harsh grunt of pain. Spock turned his head, still holding on to the doorjamb and kicking his captor with all of his energy he had left. Christopher, with steadiness and energy Spock had not seen in him since his accident, ran toward him, his face red with both fury and desperation, his hands white on the lirpa he held. Spock’s fingers slipped free just as Christopher’s hand touched his bound wrists to yank him back.

The Klingon who held Spock turned only enough to deliver a kick to Christopher’s stomach, winding him and sending the older man to the ground. In another instant, the Klingon Christopher had felled in his effort to reach Spock, tore the lirpa from Christopher’s hands and tossed it aside, opting instead to use his fists to repeatedly and brutally strike the Human into helplessness. Spock screamed as he saw the blood. Natasha ran to her husband and put herself between him and the vicious Klingon. It was as though he didn’t notice his target had changed. He struck her down as well.

“Stop!” someone shouted from the shadows of the house. Everyone stilled. Slowly, that person stepped forward. Viscount Marcus, his arm holding Pavel to his chest by the boy’s neck, stood among the brutality of the Klingons. Pavel’s lip was split and bleeding and tears streaked his face. The Viscount looked at Spock. “Had you simply stayed put last night, none of this would have come to pass, you ungrateful little whore.” Spock swallowed a sob. “Do you think there would be no consequences to what you’ve done?” He smiled. “Look at this. My entire household in an uproar, my daughter’s dignity in ruins, and my staff beaten bloody. All because of you. You can see why I made this arrangement, don’t you? There must be _some_ intelligence in you somewhere.” The Viscount nodded to a cart filled with items that Spock immeditaely recognized. The items that have been disappearing from the manor slowly over time. “I give QumwI’ Hegh the one thing he’s wanted from me in exchange for the items I had previously sold him. I cannot have us looking destitute when the Prince arrives for Janice’s hand, can I?”

The Viscount approached Spock, forcing Pavel with him. “You can either allow yourself to be removed from my sight without any further incident, or this useless boy will accompany you. And we both know how long he would last on Kronos, don’t we?”

“Spock,” Pavel whispered.

Spock looked down at Pavel, the boy he loved like a little brother. He could not stop himself from crying as he looked into the boy’s eyes. “I love you, Pav. Tell Chris and Natasha—”

“Take him,” commanded the Viscount, turning away.

“Spock!” Pavel cried out. “No!”

“I love you,” Spock repeated.

The Klingon wasted no more effort. He picked Spock up and carried him roughly the rest of the way to the dark hovercar. The door slid open, and the Klingon threw Spock inside. Spock scrambled to look one last time at his family, no longer caring that their final images would not match those he best knew of them. The Klingons mounted their own hoverbikes and started them up, the roars of their antigrav fields and engines drowning out all other sounds. But Spock saw Christopher, his face bloodied, openly weeping. Natasha held her husband, struggling to contain her own tears. And Pavel, still with the Viscount’s arm choking him, gazing back at him, struggling in rage and screaming Spock’s name. Among all of them stood Viscount Marcus, unharmed, and wearing the smile of a man satisfied in his victory.

Knowing that none of them could hear him, Spock shouted to his family, “I love you!” one last time, before the door of the hovercar closed, cutting Spock off from his home. He pressed his bound hands against the tinted window, desperate to see them all until distance would make it impossible.

A thick, armored hand grabbed onto Spock’s wrists and pulled him away from the window. For a moment, Spock had forgotten he was not alone in the vehicle. The hand on his body made his fear spike and his body shake. A second hand grabbed him by the chin and forced Spock to look up from his crumbled position on the floor and into the cold, unforgiving eyes of QumwI’ Veqlargh Hegh, who smiled triumphantly down at him. “You belong to me now.” He brushed away a tear from Spock’s cheek. “You’re mine, Spock.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Let me know what you think by leaving a comment! Hoping to get the next chapter up as soon as I can. Thanks! ~ RK


	14. The Place of Marriage or Challenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! My plan is to work exclusively on this story until it is finished! Apologies to everyone interested in this story for the long hiatus. Things are slowly starting to look a little brighter on the horizon. Trying to stay positive and trying to write everyday as much as I can. Thank you for reading and staying interested in this one! (A reader alerted me that I should include a warning for this chapter for non-con. Consider this that warning. Only applicable to this chapter.) Enjoy the new chapter! ~ RK

The sun had not yet risen during their arrival. The disembarkment and subsequent transportation proceeded with efficency and an unusual amount of silence, other than the required civil greetings exchange between visitors and their host’s representative. The party  was settled quickly into quarters where preparations immediately commenced for the day’s planned ceremony.

Nyota Uhura hurried between all those with whom she had to liaise from the middle of the night until that morning. She greeted Prince James’s bride and her party at the spaceport, including T’Sai T’Pring’s Clan Matriarch, and Nyota was glad to speak in Vulcan again. She felt more comfortable utilizing the Vulcan language than she did with Terran Standard. While she could succinctly make her point in Standard, there simply existed no such word precision like the Vulcan language. That it now afforded her privacy in discussion even while in public made her job much easier, too.

However, she had simply not had an opportunity to speak with Matriarch T’Pau alone and Nyota’s anxiety and sense of urgency grew with each moment unavailable. If her suspicions were correct, she had a very limited window of opportunity to confirm them before more than one life would be disrupted forever because of her inability to act decisively. That opportunity arrived while she broke her fast with T’Sai T’Pring and Matriarch T’Pau before their attendants arrived to prepare them for the ceremony. Nyota did not waste time.

“Matriarch,” she began formally. “There is an urgent matter requiring your knowledge and attention.”

T’Pau pinned her with her hard gaze. “Indeed?” she asked. “What might that be?”

Nyota drew forth the pendant she had taken from Prince James’s chambers and held it out for T’Pau’s inspection. “This pendant was worn to the Masque by a Vulcan of—” she struggled for the proper word and reluctantly settled on “—uncertain status. Initially, he had been assumed of noble stock, but later revealed to be nothing more than a servant. This revelation proved embarrassing to more than one individual.” With T’Sai T’Pring seated with them, Nyota dared not state that Prince James suffered some of that embarrassment. However, with a glance at the younger Vulcan, Nyota knew that T’Pring came to that conlusion anyway.

Before she could continue her explanation to the Matriarch, T’Pau slowly lifted the pendant from Nyota’s upturned palm and studied it silently for a moment. “Show me all of the data you have gathered regarding this matter.” She stood, abandoning the rest of her breakfast by doing so. “Upon my return, we shall discuss it further and I shall verify if your information is true or refute it if it is not.” Taking the pendant, Matriarch T’Pau departed the table.

Her abrupt leaving stunned Nyota momentarily. When she recovered, she looked to T’Sai T’Pring, and noticed that the Vulcan had barely touched her food. “Are you not well, T’Sai t’nashveh?”

T’Pring did not exactly sigh. “I find I have no appetite this morning.”

Nyota opted for encouragement. “You have no need to be nervous, my Lady. Prince James is a kind man and he—”

T’Pring waved her hand dismissively. “It would not matter if he were perfect,” she snapped. “However, perfection is not possible for anyone to achieve, therefore it still does not matter.”

Nyota looked harder at T’Pring, thought about both what she said and didn’t say. Then, she made a guess. “You must be unhappy about this.”

T’Pring picked up her fork and pushed her food around on the plate idly. “It is illogical to be dissatisfied with entering into an advantageous bonding and yet I find myself wholly so.” She grimaced then put her fork down with more force than necessary. “It is not the first time since I was told of this arrangement that I wish—” she huffed, then regained her stoicism quickly “—that I could act according to my desires and not according to my duty.”

Nyota mustered up a sympathetic smile for her. “You are not alone in that regard, T’Sai t’nashveh,” she said, refusing to tell T’Pring that her intended felt exactly the same way and that she knew preciselywhat T’Pring did not tell her. She knew the Vulcan had been unhappy for some time.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

The first thing he noticed upon opening his eyes was the dull red lighting. The second was that he was alone, but in a room that could not possibly serve any other purpose than a cell. Spock noted that his hands were still chained as he tried to prop himself up from his position lying on his side. He was caged and chained like an animal. _No_ , he corrected. _Not an animal, but a possession._

In a rush, everything came back to him about how he’d gotten here, how he’d been dragged screaming from his home, how Christopher and Natasha had tried to stop it from happening, how he watched them grow smaller and smaller in the window as he was taken from them. He remembered the Viscount’s smile most of all. He’d sold him to Hegh like chattal. Nausea choked Spock as he understood the reality of his situation. Hegh owned him now. He would never see his family again. He would never see Pavel become a man. He would never walk the fields and orchards of his home again. He would never see Jim again.

Spock couldn’t hold back his tears nor his sobs.

The heavy door screamed on its metal hinges as it opened, and Spock immediately struggled to silence himself. But his attempts to regain even some emotional control failed completely when the hulking figure of QumwI’ Veqlargh Hegh entered the compact cell looking at Spock with nothing less than predatory satisfaction. With every step Hegh took closer to Spock, Spock crawled away as best he could. Terror froze his muscles when he backed himself against the wall and Hegh continued to leisurely approach.

Hegh reached out his huge, armored hand and ran his thick fingers through Spock’s long disheveled hair. “Marcus is a fool,” he said. Spock, shivering in fear and disgust, did not understand. He didn’t have to wait long. “He hates Vulcans so much that he was too stupid to learn that long hair on a Vulcan means they’re from a noble bloodline.” He brought the ends of Spock’s hair to his lips and kissed the tresses. “A shame that you aren’t noblility, isn’t it?” Spock choked on an aborted sob. “Such a shame. I’m going to miss it.”

Before Spock could even understand what Hegh’s words meant, the Klingon grabbed a handful of his hair and dragged him to the center of the cell. “Hold him!” he commanded the guards outside the cell door. They forced Spock to the cold floor and pinned him there by his futilely kicking legs and helpless arms. Hegh chuckled above him as he drew a viciously-spiked dagger, yanked Spock’s head upward by the grip in his hair and began to saw the length away. He threw the severed hair to the floor around Spock’s shoudlers and head, showing him how much he was savagely removing. Spock tried, but did not always succeed, in preventing his face from hitting the floor when Hegh slashed through the hair he held. Hegh’s chuckles became laughs as Spock began to cry from the pain, humiliation, and helplessness.

“Turn him!” Hegh barked. The guards roughly flipped Spock onto his back, his severed hair sticking to the tears on his face. “Leave us.” As the guards left the cell, Spock desperately scrambled away from Hegh. It did not matter. A moment later, Spock was hauled to his feet and his back slammed against the wall. Hegh scraped the hair from his face and smiled at his work. “Once we get to Kronos, you’ll learn your proper place, screaming under me as I fuck you.” Spock couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t even sob. Hegh grabbed his jaw and forced him to look at this creature that butchered him. “Twelve years of waiting and you’re finally mine.” Hegh licked his lips in excitement. “A little taste will do for now.” Hegh slammed his larger body against Spock and seized the Vulcan’s lips, only to rear back with a shout of pain as Spock bit him.

Spock doubled over as Hegh smashed his fist into his stomach. Hegh hauled him upright again and Spock’s cheek exploded in agony, sending him to the floor. The Klingon’s plated boot rammed into Spock’s side and he collapsed. “I’ll fully break that fight out of you tomorrow, whore.”

Something wet landed on Spock’s cheek before Hegh stormed out of the cell. He touched the wetness and looked at the magenta liquid and wished he could feel even the slightest satisfaction that he’d made Hegh bleed. Instead, the only reaction he had was his tears.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Feeling the eyes of both Terrans and Vulcans upon him, Prince James awaited his future mate staring at the officiant and swallowing his persistent nerves. He didn’t want to be standing there in his finery uncomfortably waiting as he heard the soft footsteps of T’Sai T’Pring and her entourage approach him. He didn’t want to speak vows he did not mean nor believe he could honor in both heart and deed. He didn’t want to marry T’Pring.

Jim blinked furiously to contain his unhappiness and swallowed the lump in his throat. He remembered the look on Spock’s face when he’d so brutally rejected him. Jim closed his eyes and lowered his head, trying to banish the memory from his thoughts. He wished he’d reacted better. He wished he hadn’t turned his lover away. He wished…

Rustling fabric at his side drew him from his self-deprecation. He looked at the Vulcan at his side. T’Sai T’Pring’s elegant beauty could not be denied. But as Jim studied her, his final wish set inhis mind.

He wished that Spock stood in her place.

Jim drew an unsteady breath at what could never be, what he himself had forbidden with his hurtful words. He could not think of Spock now or ever again. His duty stood beside him and she awaited him.

He closed his eyes and took several long, deep, calming breaths before he convinced himself to face this purgatory of his own making. He opened his eyes but while he could bring himself to accept that he must marry, couldn’t bring himself to look at T’Pring. He raised his hand to her, palm turned up for her to accept him so he could escort her the final three steps to the officiant. She did not lift her hand. Cursing his own inattention to her people’s customs, he curled back his tumb and fingers towards his palm until only his middle and index fingers remained outstretched to her.

T’Sai T’Pring aborted a sob.

Jim immediately turned to her, to truly look at her since she’d arrived at his side. She struggled valiantly to burt her emotions behind a veil of stoicism, but the tremble in her lower lip and the misery in her eyes gave her feelings away. Jim opened his mouth to speak, but before he could find the words, T’Pring lifted an unsteady, shaking hand and curled her first two fingers around his waiting digits. She could not hold back a breathy cry.

The majority of the Terrans witnessing that moment understood that Jim and T’Pring had just shared their first dutiful but unhappy kiss.

As he guided T’Sai T’Pring forward, Jim felt the shaking of her fingers and knew that her entire body probably shook similarly. She must be as miserable as Jim. The officiant directed them to kneel. Jim hesitated, then looked to T’Pring. She seemed to be marshalling her own strength to take this next step. But by her crumbling expression, her efforts were wasted. She looked as miserable as Jim felt.

Suddenly, Jim understood that she _was_ as miserable as he felt. Perhaps it went deeper than a reluctance to marry him. Perhaps they shared the same grief. Perhaps their situations were exactly the same.

Relief flooded through Jim’s entire body and he began to laugh before he could stop himself. T’Pring turned sharply towards him, fury clear on her face, as she snatched her hand away. “No, no, my lady,” Jim tried to reassure her. “Please, I’m not laughing at you. Never at you,” he said, as he reached for her shoulders so she wouldn’t fall or trip in her haste to escape this humiliation. “Please, listen to me.”

T’Pring finally stopped trying to stand and looked at him, her anger still coloring her dark eyes in fire. “Speak,” she demanded.

“Tell me honestly,” Jim began, only to be interrupted by T’Pring.

“I am Vulcan. I do not lie.”

That only made Jim smile sadly as he remembered the Vulcan he loved who was able to take the truth and add shadows to conceal the entire truth. “Some can, but I don’t want you to even try. This is too important.” He became all too aware of a hush descending on the spectators of this moment. He didn’t care anymore. “You don’t want to marry me, do you?”

“It is my duty to do so,” T’Pring said, her voice steady and void of emotion.

Jim tried to reassure her with his smile and by squeezing her upper arms in support. “That’s not what I asked.”

T’Pring stared at him before finally confessing. “No. I do not.”

“That makes two of us.” T’Pring’s expression scrunched in her confusion. Jim let his hands trail down her arms until he lightly held her just above her wrists, pointedly avoiding her hands. He helped her to her feet. T’Pring only looked panicked and more confused. “I would give anything to have the one I love in your place, but an arrangement says that we both must be unhappy forever bound to one another. You know what I’m talking about.” He did not ask her. He stated it.

T’Pring nodded once. “Yes. I wish the same.”

Jim tried not to laugh. “Aren’t wishes illogical?”

“Indeed, but I find I still desire this one.”

Jim looked around the many Vulcans gathered to watch these now disrupted proceedings. His gaze searched for something in particular. Within a moment he found what he sought. A Vulcan, dressed in the livery of a bodyguard, with his head bowed. He was the only Vulcan whose eyes were not fastened on Jim and T’Pring. Jim looked back at T’Pring and saw that her unhappy eyes focused on the same Vulcan he’d just been observing. Knowing he would be causing an uproar but not caring anymore what anyone else thought of him or his behavior, Jim smiled at T’Pring. “Then, T’Sai T’Pring, I grant you your wish.” She stared at him in stunned bewilderment. “I understand and I release you from our betrothal,” he said. He released her arms and took a step back away from her. “Go to him.”

A very un-Vulcan smile lit T’Sai T’Pring’s face. In another second, she hurried away from Jim and rushed to the equally stunned and happy guardsman. “Stonn t’nash-veh!” she cried as she crashed into his waiting arms. “K’hat’n’dlawa!” Jim watched their reunion bittersweetly. That was what one should look like when they are about to marry. As he witnessed their joy, he knew he’d made the right decision this time. Stonn, his arms full of an ecstatic T’Pring, met Jim’s eyes. Neither of them needed words to show and accept their gratitude.

Only when he turned away from the happy display did Jim notice the confused and excited chatter around him. It didn’t ruin his relief and satisfaction at having done something truly good. Laughing to himself, Jim walked away from the altar and headed directly to one of the side doors. He had no reason to be there anymore. He quickly made his way through the narrow side corridor, hopng he could dodge anyone who might want to stop him.

“Jim!”

He skidded to a halt in frustration, hopes of avoiding anyone dashed. “What is it, Bones?” he asked, turning to face his flustered Captain of the Guard. He noticed immediately that a certain blonde young woman trailed behind McCoy and his eyes narrowed. “What the hell is she doing here?” She withdrew into herself and didn’t take a single step closer, while McCoy continued to charge right up to Jim.

“Lady Carol just told me something that I think you should—”

“Your Highness!” called the authoritative voice of Miss Uhura.

In this narrow hallway, Jim felt a little like he’d been cornered. He felt a little anxious and a touch suspicious. “Yes, Miss Uhura?”

Uhura never faltered in her quick steps to him. “I was going to present this to The Queen, but considering the uproar you’ve just caused—”

“Excuse me,” Jim interrupted. “That uproar was for everybody’s happiness.”

Uhura flashed him an amused smile. “Not your parents or T’Sai T’Pring’s parents. You’ve essentially caused a diplomatic incident by breaking this marriage arrangement.” Jim opened his mouth to counter her but she swiped the air between them with her hand demanding his silence. To his own surprise, he obeyed. “Regardless, your actions may be for the best, especially for your case.” She thrust a datapad at him.

“What is this?” Jim took it, looked at it, but grew frustrated. “You know I can’t read Vulcan, Miss Uhura.” Uhura reached over and tapped the padd. Immediately, the Vulcan translated into Terran Standard. She stared at Jim as he quickly read through the information revealed to him. After a moment, he looked back at Uhura. “I don’t understand. This is about some symbol of a Noble House. What does that—”

With a muttered curse, Uhura pointed at the only image on the display. “Don’t you recognize that?”

Until the question, Jim hadn’t, but then he looked closer and knew where he’d seen it. Particularly on whom he’d seen it. “Spock,” he said, breathlessly.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Uhura confirmed. “That symbol belongs to his family on Vulcan.”

“What?” Jim didn’t dare hope. He couldn’t let himself hope.

“Jim,” McCoy said, “I think she’s trying to tell you that your Vulcan is from a noble family on Vulcan.”

Shock overwhelmed Jim. “Oh my God.” In an instant, he knew what he had to do. He gave the padd back to Uhura. “Show this to my mother,” he ordered. “Find Spock’s family and arrange for them to come here as soon as possible.” He turned, his entire being filled with a new purpose, intending to find transportation as quickly as possible.

“Jim, wait, where are you going?” McCoy shouted.

Without pausing in his step, Jim shouted back a reply. “To go to that manor and find Spock!”

“He’s not there!”

That made Jim stop. He’d forgotten all about Lady Carol’s presence until she’d spoken. He turned to look at her. “What do you mean he’s not there? Where else would he be?”

Carol looked nervously at McCoy, who nodded encouragingly at her. She swallowed and shakily walked forward. “My…The Viscount sold him just after the Masque.”

Jim’s world fell away from him. His chest tightened. He struggled to breathe. “Sold him?” he asked, horrified. Anger quickly replaced his horror. “Where?” he demanded. “To whom?”

Carol met his gaze. “QumwI’ Veqlargh Hegh.”

Jim reeled as a memory slammed into the forefront of his mind.

 

_“When I finally have him, I’ll ride him every night.”_

_“Hard, too, I’m sure.”  The others laughed._

_“He’s kept me waiting too long, and for that I’ll make him bleed.”_

_“Then, we all get to enjoy him?”_

_“He’s mine.  Only I’ll make him scream, and cry, and beg me to stop.  Touch my prize, and you lose the hand that touched him.”_

 

Hegh. Hegh had said those horrifying things. Only at that moment, in that crowded hallway did Jim understand that Hegh had been planning to do those things about Spock. To hurt Spock. Jim’s breathing quickened as his fear for Spock grew. He staggered to the wall to lean against it in his shock. But as he propped himself there, trying to get his wits together again, a second memory sprang forth. This one with Spock when Jim’s painstakingly planned picnic and intended proposal had gone so horribly wrong.

 

_He swept Spock’s long hair away from the back of his neck to fully expose the faded bruise there.  As he draped Spock’s hair over his shoulder, Jim examined the back of his lover’s neck.  It was older than a day judging by the way it was faded in color.  With increasing horror and anger, Jim realized that this mark had been caused by teeth.  Someone had bitten and thus marked the neck of the person Jim wished to wed.  “It’s not nothing,” Jim insisted.  Not wanting to cause pain, but hoping to bring some kind of comfort, Jim rested both of his hands on Spock’s shoulders where his shoulders joined his neck and traced the offensive mark gently with the pads of his thumbs as though desperate to erase its existence with his touch.  “Were you attacked?” he asked, though dreading the answer._

_“Yes.”_

_Jim swallowed his anger and allowed his concern for Sybok to take precedence.  “Are they still a threat to you?”_

_“It does not matter,” Spock said._

_“Sybok,” Jim sighed his lover’s name as he felt him shaking.  He came closer and pressed a gentle kiss to the horrible bite mark, trying to conceal the cruelty of it with tenderness.  “It matters to me.”  He kissed the mark again, then pulled away enough to brush Spock’s hair from over his shoulder to cascade down his back.  “Are you in any further danger?”_

_“I do not know,” he said._

 

Jim moaned, grief and guilt overwhelming him. How did he not put the pieces together until now? How did he not know until it was too late? But Jim had no idea if it truly was too late. He whirled to face Lady Carol. “You said the Viscount sold Spock yesterday?”

“Yes, Your Highness. Yesterday afternoon.”

Jim hardened his voice to a firm command. “Tell no one we have spoken. This discussion remains between us alone until the proper time.”

Lady Carol immediately replied, “Understood, Your Highness.”

Jim nodded then turned to McCoy. “I need the fastest ship available, immediately.”

He intended to waste no time and go directly to the platforms, but McCoy’s hand around his arm halted him in his tracks. Jim glared at McCoy about to lash out with irritated words, but McCoy’s hesitant smirk caught him off guard long enough for the Captain to speak. “Actually, Jim, you may not need a ship at all.”

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

The end of the feast had finally arrived, but it did nothing to lessen Spock’s dread. “Come, my pretty pet,” Hegh purred to him as he raked his clawed fingers through Spock’s uneven hair. “Clear my place.” Spock rose from his knees at Hegh’s side and reached to take away the remnants of the Klingon’s plate, the chains between his wrists and ankles clinking softly, reminding him that he could not run or fight effectively. He had tried as soon as his cell had been opened when Hegh’s ship had landed on Kronos, but he’d been beaten to the ground and quickly restrained, much to Hegh’s delight. His body hurt from the beating, and shame hung over him like a dirty cloak.

“Actually,” Hegh said, his huge hand rushing forward to firmly grasp Spock’s arm. “I think I want dessert.” The plate left Spock’s hands and shattered on the stone floor. In one motion, Hegh surged to his feet, grabbed the back of Spock’s neck, and swept his arm over the table, clearing the surface with the shattering of dishes and the spilling of drinks. “Leave us!” Hegh ordered. Everyone scrambled to obey and fled the room, the homecoming feast clearly and abruptly over.  Hegh forced Spock forward onto the table, the Vulcan’s head hitting it hard, leaving him dazed for a moment.

It was all Hegh needed.

Holding Spock down by the neck, Hegh tore away enough of Spock’s clothing to expose what he sought. “Twelve years,” Hegh said, admiring the flesh he’d coveted for years. “Finally you’re mine.” Spock stared straight ahead, blankness in his eyes, his lips parted only enough to breathe soundlessly. “Nothing to say?” Spock continued to stare. Hegh growled in frustration, swiped his tongue along his index finger, and brought his hand to Spock’s exposed opening. “Perhaps this will loosen your tongue, my whore.” He smiled as he shoved his finger hard into the Vulcan’s body. Spock closed his eyes and whimpered. Hegh withdrew and shoved in again, harder. Spock gasped but quickly stilled, relaxed his body, and schooled his face into complete stoicism. The next time Hegh plunged into Spock, he added two more fingers. All he got in response was a harsh exhale from the Vulcan beneath him. “Not enough pain for you?” he hissed. “Everyone I’ve ever fucked the first time would be—” Then, he looked closer at the trembling Vulcan, who still shed no tears, despite Hegh brutally shoving three of his huge fingers into him with no hint of gentleness. “That’s it, isn’t it?” he realized aloud. “This isn’t the first time. Someone’s already fucked you.”

Spock went limp bent over the table. He knew that with this conclusion, Hegh would not hesitate to abuse him harshly.

Hegh grabbed him by his hips and bodily flipped Spock to lay on his back on the table. The Klingon smiled cruelly down at him. “Was it the Prince?” His delight only grew when tears pooled in Spock’s eyes. “At least I won’t have to hold back now that you’ve been ridden once.” He pushed Spock’s legs high and spread them as far apart as the chains would allow. “Hold on, whore,” he said, positioning his cock at Spock’s entrance.

With a strangled sob, Spock closed his eyes, desperate not to feel anything, not to have Hegh taint the memory of what he’d shared with Jim.

Something firm hit flesh and the weight of Hegh pinned him to the table, the chain binding Spock’s legs strained his muscles as it and the Klingon atop him forced him into an uncomfortable contortion. Hegh did not move. He did not reach up to choke him or strike him. He did not violate Spock’s body. Unwilling to trust this possible deception, Spock refused to open his eyes. He could not give in to hope. He would not.

“Are you injured?” a new voice above him said.

This new voice piqued Spock’s curiosity enough to get him to open his eyes. It did not sound like Hegh. Who could this be? He stared up into the face of a disheveled Klingon.

“Say something!” the Klingon said.

Spock could not find his voice but he managed to slowly shake his head, uncertain as to this new Klingon’s intentions.

“Good,” the Klingon said. He grabbed the back of Hegh’s collar and hauled him away from Spock’s exposed body. Hegh thudded dully to the stone floor. With an unexpected gentleness, the Klingon took hold of Spock’s legs and helped him unfold his stiff, tense, and shaking body.

Spock finally found his voice. “Who are you?”

The Klingon muttered a harsh-sounding curse to himself. “I am Qan.” He swept his arm to another Klingon that Spock had not seen. “That is Bej.”

The presence of the second male sent him into a mild panic. Spock scrambled the rest of the way off the table, stumbling due to his chains. “Stay away from me!” he shrieked, backing away from them as much as he could. Defending himself against both of them would be impossible in his current condition.

“You don’t understand,” Qan said, holding his hands at chest level to show he had no weapons. But Spock was chained, and a weaponless Klingon would easily subdue him. “We mean you no harm.”

Spock shook as he realized he’d backed himself into a corner. He crumbled and tried to curl into himself protectively. “I don’t—I don’t believe you,” he whispered, trying desperately but failing to mask his terror.

Qan stopped in front of him out of arm’s reach. “What would convince you?”

Spock looked beyond Qan and saw Bej had approached Hegh’s unconscious form, surprised to see him wrangling Hegh’s body around so that he could tightly bind the larger Klingon’s huge hands. He looked back to Qan, his distrust only starting to fade.

Qan kept his hands raised chest level, their position lessening Spock’s panic just a little more. Qan had made no aggressive move against him. “Does the name Lady Gaila mean anything to you?” Qan asked. Spock stiffened in shock. “Or perhaps Samuel? Samuel Kirk?”

Spock struggled to respond for a moment, but could only nod.

Bej took over the explanation. “He asked us to tail Hegh after you and Prince James stayed with us. Something about him—” He nudged Hegh with his boot. “—didn’t sit right with Sam. Then he brought you here. We weren’t going to let anything happen to you. Do you remember we escorted you and the Prince home in the morning?”

Spock couldn’t believe the words he heard. The fight and tension left his body and relief took their place. He’d barely remembered their escort back to the manor during the morning after staying in the gypsy camp. Spock had been too tired to pay much attention to anything except Jim that morning. His brain caught up to the present, realizing that Qan and Bej said they had been tasked to follow Hegh, not that they had chosen to do so. “Were you just following orders then?”

“No, not right now,” Qan said. “We just knew what we should do.”

His relief overwhelmed Spock and tears escaped his eyes. His eyes found Qan’s unsteadily. “Thank you,” he sobbed.

Qan approached him further. “If you wish, we will take you home with us. You will be welcome among Lady Gaila’s people.”

Spock’s emotions and body were out of control. He wept with overpowering gratitude and his body shook violently as his adrenaline fled and all that remained was exhaustion. He could only nod shakily in response to Qan’s offer. He didn’t hear Qan’s response, but he felt the Klingon effortlessly scoop him up from the floor.

A moment later, the doors crashed open and shouting roared in his ears, sparking Spock’s crippling terror once more and immediately convincing him that his escape would be denied him. His nerves could not endure anything else. Exhaustion claimed him and Spock knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think by leaving a comment. I would love to hear from you! Thank you! ~ RK


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